


Not About Angels

by LydiaTyde



Category: Original Work
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Parents, Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Bad Decisions, Bad Parenting, Best Friends, Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Broken Bones, Broken Families, Broken Promises, Brother-Sister Relationships, Brotherly Love, Bullying, Cancer, Character Death, Comfort/Angst, Crying, Dead People, Death, Decisions, Denial, Denial of Feelings, Depression, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Don't Like Don't Read, Drinking, Drinking to Cope, Emotional, Emotional Hurt, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotions, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Relationships, Everyone Needs A Hug, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Feels, Family Issues, Family Secrets, Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Fights, First Kiss, First Love, First Meetings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Goodbyes, Gun Violence, Half-Siblings, Hate to Love, Heavy Angst, Heavy Drinking, High School, Hugs, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, Implied Relationships, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Injury, Insecurity, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Loss, Loss of Parent(s), Love, Love Confessions, Lung Cancer, Major Character Injury, Male-Female Friendship, Meant To Be, Men Crying, Mentions of Cancer, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Mother-Son Relationship, Murder, Murderers, Musical Instruments, Musicians, Near Death Experiences, Neglect, Not Beta Read, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV First Person, POV Male Character, POV Multiple, POV Original Character, POV Original Female Character, Pain, Parent Death, Parent-Child Relationship, Past Abuse, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Past Violence, Piano, Please Don't Hate Me, Plot, Possible Character Death, Protective Siblings, Protectiveness, References to Depression, Relationship(s), Sad, Sad and Happy, School, Secrets, Self-Esteem Issues, Self-Hatred, Sibling Love, Siblings, Single Parents, Slow Build, Slow To Update, Sobbing, Strained Friendships, Strained Relationships, Suffering, Suicide Attempt, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tags May Change, Tears, Teen Angst, Their Love Is So, True Love, Underage Drinking, Weird Plot Shit, Why Did I Write This?, Wishes, Wishful Thinking, Worth It, Writer's Block, relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-09-03
Packaged: 2019-05-10 10:25:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 32,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LydiaTyde/pseuds/LydiaTyde
Summary: God, if I could ask for one thing, and if you would give it to me... If you would allow it, give me one good person, just one, who will stay forever in my life. I don't need someone great, fantastic, or even perfect. I just want someone good. Just one... only one... only good.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello lovelies!  
> I know this site is more oriented towards fanfiction, but I decided I wanted to post this anyways. Hopefully you'll enjoy this original work of mine as much as any of my current or future fanfictions I post.

Thunder clashes with the whip of the distant wind. Lightning flashes, like it's capturing the moment in a single picture. From where I sit perched on the roof just outside my bedroom window, rain pelts my skin, as if intending to create the kind of rippling effect it causes on the already crashing waves of the ocean. I extend my hand to the horizon where the sun had long since sunk below the earth in a wave of colours. A puddle forms in my palm. The water plays a light rhythm in my head as it rolls off the edge of my hand, drumming softly against the shingles below.

The ground below appears wilted, as if it has finally made deaths acquaintance, but the rest of the world appears lively. Trees dance as the wind guides them across the dance floor. People run the streets to get to their desired destination. Quite possibly unsure if they will make it there safely, or make it there at all, for that matter. Puddles of this hours long rain splash, tossing up onto other cars or the occasional passerby, as a car rolls through the street. Shop lights illuminate the streets, as if trying to cast a flame upon it. The glow appears like a mother's hug; warm and inviting. It calls me, just a barely there whisper, to join my half-brother and half-sister in an effort to cure my seemingly close to unbearable fatigue. I feel myself drift a bit just at the thought of sleep, but I can't find it in myself to move into the sheltered warmth of my bed. I won't find that strength until I know.

_I need to know, are you coming home? Will you need me, yet again, when it is I who should be needing you?_

I will myself to stay awake, to keep my eyes open as I gaze into the eyes of the endless sky that sheds its tears upon the earth. The bleakness of the infinite grey matches that of my father's eyes. His eyes had once held a life so strong they glowed a magnificent shade of blue, but now they hold the constant appearance of death already having won him over. Unlike like the sky, I don't know what may be underlying my father's vacant expressions, but beyond the shadow cast sky is the twinkling of the stars. It's as if someone planted candles to fill a blackened canvas with enough light to see the beauty of the artistry beyond the scorch marks.

The lights have been extinguished. The stage is dim, and no one seems to care. The moon is the spotlight that waits for its moment to shine down on the selected stage, and the stars are the individual songs that give life to the performance. We are the actors that present the stories, selected chapters intertwining with another actors story. Even when the clouds—our curtains—close upon the life breathing light of the stage, the story will continue. Just as life will go on whether we choose to move forward and take a chance in the unknown, or stay behind in a life where the past will remain to haunt us.

Rain rolls down my spine, leaving me shuddering with chills. It feels as if death is lingering over me; dragging his slender, icy fingers up and down my spine, his every touch drawing the life from me. The devil sits to the left of me, caressing my frozen skin as he holds my hand gently in his own. If I looked I bet he would be smiling a smile so deceivingly sweet that I never would've suspected he was only waiting for that last ounce of life to be drained from my eyes. A deceiving comfort before he would drag me away to the raging fires of hell, before an angel could raise me up to heaven. Maybe I am just not deserving of heaven, because here by my side I don't feel the peace of an angel's presence.

A hand grasps mine, my body quivering at the sudden warmth, and delicate fingers interlaced with my own. Tears burn at the edges of my eyes. Falling; one... two... three... constant. I suddenly find myself thankful for the downpour, until that oh-so soft touch brings to my attention just who it is by my side. Rain can disguise what everything else can't. It is the one mask that can hide the pain that's too agonizing for words, but there is always one who can see through this mask.

Every night, after time and time again of burying it down, that single secret fear is awaken from deep inside. I despise the feeling it elicits. The sinking loneliness. That constant, overwhelming fear of everyone walking out of my life, because that's all people can seem to do after a time of knowing me. I just need to realize that even if people stay forever in my heart, they can't stay forever in my life. Yet, there's one person I can always count on to come stumbling back in my life. Even after time and time again of disappointment. Even when I can hardly count on him to be there for anything else.

 _Don't leave_ , I plead in my mind. This will never be something I could truthfully ask of anyone to ever do for me. Even if I knew they loved me, I could never bring myself to be so selfish. I can't ask someone to stay with me, even if they weren't unknowingly going to leave me at some point in our lives.

_God, if I could ask for one thing, and if you would give it to me... If you would allow it, give me one good person, just one, who will stay forever in my life. I don't need someone great, fantastic, or even perfect. I just want someone good. Just one... only one... only good._

I peer over at my sister from the corner of my eye, unwilling to meet her gaze with this uncertainty consuming me from the inside-out. Her hazel eyes—which match that of mine and our mother's—appear intricately woven with a tinge of blue from a midnight sky. A trait she undoubtedly acquired from her own father. Her eyes glow with an unceasing light, as if they are two stones that are continuously being polished to a fine shine by the ever flowing currents of the stream. They hold a depth so consumingly deep that you feel as if you're drowning in a sea of emotion, and her empathy. As if she is melding her soul with yours to mend the melody that others have so wrongly attempted to estrange from your heart. She'd be able to see right through the mask the rain acts as. Shyle would be able to see the tears falling off my face. Somehow, she'd know the difference between my tears and the rain, my mask and my pain.

Shyle's sun kissed brunette hair falls in curly, waist length locks over her shoulders, framing the delicate curve of her face. Her full, deep pink lips contrast to her pale, yet fair complexion. She looks so much like our mother that sometimes I can hardly look her in the eyes without thinking, _wishing_ , I could tell my mom I loved her. A phrase I had never had the courage to tell her before she was no longer in my life. All I had been able to do was disappoint her—that's at least what I've always believed—and maybe that's why she left me behind with dad after losing her two eldest children.

Maybe I'm the true reason why my dad became a drunk who would sometimes not even come home at night. Maybe I'm the real reason I sit out here till half past midnight—wishing... hoping... _praying_ —waiting for my father to come home safe, no matter what state he may return to me in. Whether his condition be so drunk he couldn't stay conscious long enough for me to help him onto the couch, or drunk to the point of abusive and pointing all his problems in my direction so he didn't have to feel guilty for any of it. I had to try and not care, because, for a long while after mom left, he was the only one I had in my life.

Some days it was like suffering a constant panic attack, like I was drowning and no one could see I was struggling. My chest constricted so tight that every breath felt like needle upon needle puncturing my lungs, allowing me to be drowned in my own sea of crimson. My vision blurred over with this constant stream of tears, but making my head throb so painfully hard that it felt as if I would soon be rendered unconscious by my own pathetic lack of control. Every step, every motion, feeling as if I was constantly surrounded by an ocean that would only drag me down further and further with every move I made. Every burning glance that was cast my direction is what cut me off completely from the rest of the "normal" world, like a thousand flames trying to make all attempts of survival futile.

In that time I was in constant questioning. If God cared, where was he? If his angels were watching over this earth, why weren't they here to take me away, yet? Where is my mother? Where is my brother? Why did my sister end up miles away in some sort of health institute in a catatonic state that renders her so unresponsive she barely seems alive anymore? What happened to the man I once knew in my father? Where did every ounce of _good_ in my life go? Why does this house no longer feel like home? What is a house? Four walls and roof. What is a home? When did that become a question I no longer knew how to answer?

I had crossed an invisible barrier, fallen into this world where shadows ruled over me. A place where all it took was a single word to back me into a corner, and make me feel like I was worth _less_ than nothing. Most would've probably given up at that point, but somewhere I came up with this delusion that if I gave up on this world then there would be nothing left for my father to cling to. Nothing left to remind my father that we were both very much still living, breathing human beings, and we were meant to break and hurt and feel like absolute shit when the world came crashing around us. I came up with this delusion that my father's whole world would be gone if I gave up, but maybe it was more for my own sake than his. Maybe it was because I, _myself_ , wasn't ready to give up on this world yet, and I needed some excuse to stay. If just for a little while longer, I needed to stay.

One by one, people came walking into my life, mending every shattered piece of my heart. Yet, I never wanted to let them come closer than arms length away from me, because if they got any closer I wouldn't be able to let them go again. The feeling of their embrace. Their soft spoken words. The intensity of their loving gaze. I wanted it all to feel as if it had never meant anything to me, but somewhere along the line they had waltzed past my heart's door anyways and it was... beautiful. It was stargazing in the cool summer nights. It was soaking ourselves to the bone as we danced in the pouring rain. It was good night, good morning, and hello. It was love and pain, and the occasional goodbye when I became less than good enough to be one's friend. Most of all, it was home.

 _Home_.

What is a home? When did that become a question I had rediscovered the answer to?

A sob hiccups past my lips, and I'm startled by the realization that I'm still crying. My free hand comes up to cover my mouth, as if that could hold back every little noise that slips past my quivering lips. I laugh a breathy, slightly hysterical laugh, clutching my sisters hand more tightly. I press her hand against my lips, kissing each knuckle as my body trembles from both the cold and my incessant sobbing. It makes me feel pathetic. I constantly clinging to those who are willing to embrace and accept me, and that will only make it harder to let go. I am constantly waiting on a man who often creates this illusion like he needs me or that he can be trusted, and he lets me down more often than not.

_So why do I wait for you? Why do I feel the need know when you'll... if you'll be coming home? Night after night. Why do I waste so many restless nights waiting for you?_

"Why?" I ask, barely realizing I had even uttered a single word. My voice was choked, sounding more pathetic and broken than it usually does. It was the sound I imagined I'd make when my façade had finally shattered to million tiny pieces, and the world finally would see how mangled and misshapen my heart really is. How broken it became over the past eleven years.

"He's our dad," Shyle responds, and for the first time in hours I am no longer staring off into the distance. For the first time, in what feels like ages, I can meet her gaze and feel unafraid. "He'll always come home. Even when we're scared he won't. We're his family. He'd never leave us all alone."

I bite down hard on my bottom lip as I note how her last sentence came out sounding more like a question than a fact. I nod in agreement, though I'm not entirely sure she's right. _She's only six, and what do six year olds know._ That's what every adult on this earth would say, because they don't realize that children know how this world works better than they'd think. I wipe at my eyes one final time, nodding again with finality. I'm still not convinced, but Shyle needs it. _I_ need it. Both of us—deep down, whether we're ready to admit it or not—need this sort of closure.

Our dad may be a lot of things, but he isn't the type of man to leave his children to fend for themselves. _Is he?_

I check my watch, 12:00. Half an hour and I'll know.

Shyle draws her hand back to her side, and I flinch at the empty feeling that envelops me. I have to bite down harder, yet, on my lip to keep from snatching her hand up again. I'm supposed to be the person she looks to for comfort and stability, not the other way around. Yet, who am I supposed to look to for those things, if not my own family? Why am I never allowed to ask the things that I want to ask of people? Why am I the one who has to keep up a façade for the sake of others?

"You should get back to bed, Shyle. You've got school in the morning," I say, averting my attention back to the streets. Still no staggering, silhouetted form wandering this direction. If I hadn't looked away, I would've clung to her had she attempted to disappear back into the comfort of her room.

"So do you," Shyle counters, her voice going all high pitched and whiny.

"Yeah, but at least I know how to suffer through a day on little sleep. You don't, you little chipmunk. Besides, we agreed I would be the one to worry about dad, and you and Miho would be the ones who didn't have to worry about any of this grown-up stuff. You just need to listen to me, okay?"

"Okay."

I can't help but smile at this. Of all the small things to happen, of all the good to still come into and remain in my life, of course Shyle would be one of them. I take her hand in mine again, and lead her back to her and Miho's bedroom. She quickly changes out of her own rain soaked clothing and into her favorite footie pajamas, and crawls into her bed in the corner of the room closest to the window.

"Ly?" Shyle says, just as I'm about to head back across the hall to go back out onto the roof to wait for that drunken figure to come stumbling into the yard.

"Hmm?" I hum in response.

"I'm sorry that you always have to wait for him. You shouldn't have to be the one to give everything up for him."

I open my mouth to respond, choking on the fresh tears that are attempting to fall. _Why? Why are you sorry for what isn't your fault? Why are you such a good person when this world has treated you so cruel?_ Taking in a breath I finally say, "Don't be. It's not your fault that any of us are stuck in this situation."

I disappear before Shyle has a chance to say anymore. How can she feel it's her job to say sorry?

The rain pelts my skin as I resume my position on the roof; waiting. _How much longer can I keep this up? Waiting every night for a man who might not show. Does he not realize what it does to me?_

Time slithers on by as I stare dazedly at the streets. My mind is muddled, hardly a single coherent thought crossing through it. 12:30, has it really been a half hour already? My heart drops into the pit that is my stomach, and I feel as if I want to be sick.

_Why do you always play this sick game with me? What joy do you find in knowing you have this sort of control over me?_

Just as the tears begin to fall—as I'm about to disappear back into the house—I see it. That drunken silhouette staggering right into the front lawn. I rush inside to meet my father at the front door, but he's still stumbling my direction when I get there. _Why are we so broken?_ Sighing, I rush to his side, shooting him a sharp glare as he attempts to swat my hand away when I reach out to help him. He backs off, allowing me to wrap his one arm around my shoulder and my arm around his waist. We stumble towards the house, and I lower him onto the couch when we get inside.

He looks feverish, and I can't help but press my hand to his forehead to check that he's okay. I bite my bottom lip, it's only a slight fever. He's lucky he's not more severely sick considering the state he's in. I take a blanket from the stack that I keep in the corner of the room and drape it over him, not taking the time to worry about the fact that his clothes are as soaked as mine.

I'm about to head back upstairs when my dad mumbles, "I love you, Lydia," and I stop dead in my tracks. My entire body has been deprived of all feeling, and my heart has seemingly stopped along with it. I cast a glance back at him, his eyes are closed so I can't be entirely sure he he's awake or not, or if he even meant it.

_How long has it been since you've said that to me? Why say it now?_

"I love you, too, dad," I reply, despite that gut wrenching feeling that he doesn't deserve to hear me say it back. Despite being sure he's already drifted to some unconscious land I'll never know, I swear I see his lips quirk up into a faint smile.

I close the door behind me as I enter my room, and once again I break down. Sobs wrack my body as I change out of my sopping clothes, and crawl under my blankets. _Will I ever hear you say it again?_ I pull my knees up against my chest and hold them there, and, once again, sleep betrays me.

_Of all people, of course you are the one who continues to come stumbling back into my life._

*******

I lay awake until light peered over the edge of the earth, but with it the sun didn't come. The sun remained hidden behind the curtain of a gray lighter than it had been last night, and a wind harsher than it had been last November. What is left drenching the ground from last nights downpour will probably freeze over in a terrible attempt to create the awful accidents that haven claimed so many lives in years prior. According to the weather report, it is supposed to snow today. Sometimes I wish winter would just choose how it wants to be, and not go back and forth between light snows, pouring rain, and full on blizzards.

Despite the ache that lingers in my head from both a lack of sleep and the sobs that had nearly split my heart at the seams, I force myself out of bed. Each movement feels robotic, like I've been neglected and rusted at the joints to the point that I'm immovable. But I can't let last night ruin what I've work so hard to build. I stand before myself in the mirror and see that I look just as bad as I feel, maybe worse. I take a deep breath as I stare back into bloodshot, dead hazel eyes, and seemingly force the broken pieces of my heart back together. At least, close enough together that they appear they'll stay in place.

Dragging my hands down my face, I sigh as I grab the long sleeve, light lemonade pink sweater dress that I laid out for myself and pull it on over my head. I choose a pair of silvery-grey leggings and a scarf that's the same shade of lemonade pink to go with. My black combat boots and white beanie are the last things I pull on after brushing out my hair, and checking myself one last time in the mirror. The girl staring back at me is hardly the girl I saw moments ago. She looks stronger. Her cheeks are coloured by a slight blush. Her eyes are glowing with a life she didn't even know she still held. Her shoulders are back, and she appears to be standing tall in a surge of confidence. She looks nothing like the broken child she truly is on the inside.

With my bag slung over one shoulder, I head down the hall to wake up Shyle and Miho. I knock three times before pushing their door open on squeaky hinges. Both of them are curled up in Shyle's bed, Miho's arms wrapped tightly around her midsection. He must've had another nightmare. I frown at the thought, but try to push it aside as I gently shake both of them awake. They both blink up at me groggily as I whisper, "It's time to get ready for school," and within a second both are racing to see who can get ready faster.

"Meet me downstairs in five minutes." I smile at their energy as I close the door behind me. They are probably the only reason I'm still capable of holding up this façade. Because if I'm not trying to keep it up for myself, I'm sure as hell gonna keep it up for them. They need someone they can use for stability. If I break, they break, and I doubt dad would even be around for them to turn to.

_Why did our lives have to turn out so screwed up?_

I shake my head as I head downstairs to finish getting things ready before we have to head out the door. The time reads, 7:00, when I check my watch. We have twenty-five minutes to get ready and out the door in order to get Shyle and Miho to school, and still give me about ten minutes to walk myself to my own school and get to class on time. I head to the kitchen where I pull out our last box of pop tarts, and stick the first package into the toaster.

Shyle and Miho come stumbling into the kitchen just as the first pop tarts finish toasting, and take their seats at the table. I hand them each one of the pop tarts from the first package as I put the second package in the toaster. As I wait for those to be done, I make sure their shoes are where we can find them and their bags are in the corner by the front door. I set my bag down alongside theirs as I head back out into the kitchen to hand them the each their second pop tart, before sticking my own into the toaster and taking a seat at the table with them. I would check to see if my dad is still asleep on the couch or if he's already left home, but I'm too terrified to know the answer. Because if he's already gone, how long will it be until any of us see him again?

I suddenly find the thought of food unappealing, and don't even bother to pull my pop tarts out of the toaster when I hear them pop up. I just can't help but wonder about what dad had said last night. _Did he mean it? Or, did he say it because he was too drunk to comprehend what he was saying? If so, why was this time so different? Why wasn't he his usual drunken, abusive self?_ I don't know whether to find this a bit worrying that he seemed out of character, or feel relieved that a part of my father still feels that way for me. Even if he didn't mean to say it, I think I needed to hear it, because some part of me wants to believe it's true. Some part of me wants my father to still love me, and to hear him say those words... it felt like I could finally allow myself to forgive him for all the trouble he's put me through. All the trouble he's put this entire family through.

Shyle and Miho hadn't been here to experience the beginning of my dad's drinking habits, and I've tried to keep them out of situations involving our drunken father since they entered into this life. I don't care if they are the children of a different family my mother started. Half-siblings or not, they are still my family, and I won't let my own father destroy them the way he did me.

 _It's not entirely his fault, though_ , my own subconscious reminds me.

Silence fills the space between us as Shyle and Miho finish getting ready for school, and it's around 7:20 when we finally get out the door. I welcome the blast of cold that bombards me as we step out into the new November morning. It was a numbing sensation, but it seemingly killed the dull ache in my heart enough to where I knew I'd be able to keep this façade up for another day.

Shyle stood to the right of me, clinging tightly to my hand as if she were afraid the wind would blow her away, and we would never meet again. Miho stood on the opposite side, close enough for me to put my hand on his shoulder and hold him to my side as we walked.

We exchanged quick hugs when we come to their school, and I watch as they disappear into the warmth of the building before continuing forward to my school. Five minutes later I stand before the front entrance, and take my final deep breath of fresh air before I enter into the thick, suffocating atmosphere of Strawberry Hill High School. As the door shuts behind me, my best-friend spots me and immediately joins me as I head down to the sophomore hallway to find my locker.

Her light gray eyes—which I prefer to call the colour of stardust—are gleaming brightly as she tells me about a new development in the _"exciting life of Joy-Cephiene Walker."_ She has her honey-gold locks braided, and styled in a tiara like fashion atop her head. I almost want to smile just from hearing the excited slur of her voice as the words tumble past her seemingly glowing smile. It's still hard to believe that she's a senior this year. A senior, about to leave me behind like everyone else in my life seems to do, so she can continue to have a life of her own.

Seeming to notice the change in my mood, she asks, "Are you alright, Ly-chan?"

My mouth falls open as if I'm about to respond, but I don't entirely have a response. I've never liked that question, or any questions like it for that matter. In the moment, I never know how to respond, like I can feel what's going on inside my misshapen heart but I can never put to exact words how I truthfully am. As of the moment, I just feel numb. A kind of sensation that could never, at any moment in time, be put to words. Of course I don't know for sure if I am alright or not, so it's best to leave the question unanswered or give the response everyone expects to hear when the question is asked.

"I'm fine," I respond, giving my best attempt at what is hopefully a real smile in at least appearance.

"What was the turn out last night? Did he come home?" She sounds as if she's treading dangerous waters, and is afraid to make any sudden moves.

"Yeah." My voice cracks on the barely whispered word. I almost choke as my breath hitches in my throat. I fight for another breath, but nothing comes as my head begins to spin. The lump in my throat—which I had thought I was finally rid of—is back, and I find it difficult to swallow down the tears that are attempting to force their way up. There's a light sting in my eyes, and I turn away.

_Not now! Please, God, don't break me now... Jo-Ce doesn't need my problems to weigh down her world._

Joy-Cephiene just takes me by the hand and leads me away from the crowded hall and into an empty classroom. Making sure to lock the door behind us, she turned back to me. Setting her school books aside—taking mine from me to set that aside as well—she pulls my now trembling body into her arms. Noticing I was fighting back my tears, Jo-Ce held me closer and nodded, as if to give me permission to cry. My body nearly shattered as I fisted my hands into the soft fabric of her dress, and let the tears fall in a constant, seemingly endless stream.

_Why can't I ever stop crying?_

A strange warmth envelops me, seeping in through my skin and mending small bits of the shattered pieces lying inside me. All the pieces to small to touch, but big enough to cut. She tugged the beanie off the top of my head just so she could entangle her fingers in my hair, and hold my head against her shoulder. Her lips press kisses to the top of my head as she whispers sweet nothings into my hair.

"Shh, it's okay, baby girl. You're gonna be alright, I swear it."

"I-it's the first ti-time he-e's been home in we-eeks."

"Shh, shh... I know, darling. I know it hurts, but don't let it get to you."

"He... he told me he loves me, Joy. A-and I don't even kn-kno-ow if he meant it. Y-yet, I-I couldn't help but say i-it ba-ack. I can't keep doin' thi-is, Jo-Ce. I wait e-every night, a-and I do-don't even know h-how I'm ho-holdin' up an-anym-more."

"It's okay, love. Sometimes... sometimes we need to break, and those broken pieces need to fall. Not necessarily to make us fall apart, because sometimes the pieces just need to fall back into place."

"When will it stop?" My voice is barely a whisper, and I'm almost certain I never actually said anything. Maybe the voice is just calling out from the recesses of my mind.

"I don't know. I don't think anyone can ever be sure of that."

The hurt. The lies. The waiting. The disappointment. The drinking. The abuse. Will this ever end? I'm sure it won't, because this is the hell that God has designed for me. This is the hell I must suffer. This is the world that I was cast into. This is the role I play. I'm broken, and there's nothing I can do about it. If it's not me that's hurting, who would stand in my stead?

The first bell rings, and I pull out of our embrace to wipe the tears from my face. My breath comes out shaky, and I can still feel the slight tremble in my body with every step I take. I almost want to collapse, but am able to steady myself when Joy-Cephiene takes my hand and leads me out of the classroom. I tried to take my things out of her arms, but she refused to let me hold my own books as she led me through the nearly empty hall to my first class.

Before she hands me my things and disappears to her own class, she pulls me into an embrace with her free arm. She nuzzles her nose against my cheek, and manages to draw a giggle from somewhere deep inside me. A sound I thought I would never hear again. She hums happily as the sound breaks past my lips.

"Now, there's my girl. If you ever need me, come find me straight away." I nod in response as she presses a final kiss to the top of my head, letting me take my books from her, and starts down the hall.

"I'll see you later, boo. I love you!" She calls back to me as she rounds the corner.

 _Love you, too._ My mind calls back, knowing it's too late to say it aloud. As I take my seat in the corner of the room, I notice the air around me doesn't seem as suffocating as before. It's lighter, easier to breath. I feel as if someone has finally taken away the anchor that had left me drowning for what felt like a millennium. There's a melody playing from my hearts core, reverberating through my veins. It's faint, but enough to give me strength to carry me for who knows how long before it dies out again.

By the time eighth period rolled around my head was throbbing constantly, and I question how I have managed to drag myself through day by day on little sleep. _One more night_. One more night is what I always tell myself, but it never ends. I keep this up and I hardly know why anymore. How long until my body finally takes its toll?

I spot the familiar head of chestnut brown locks in the back of the room—hidden behind the black studio piano that sits there—and hum contentedly as the sweet melody emanating from that direction reaches my ears. My feet carry me towards the back of the room, and I take my place on the piano bench next to my friend. He doesn't meet my gaze until his fingers hit the last keys, the sound carrying between us. His electric blue eyes meet my dull hazel ones, and something like a spark ignites in the back of my mind.

_If dad's eyes still held the life they used to, I bet they'd look exactly like that. Those same electric orbs of blue, and they'd breathe life into any room. Just like Micaiah's can._

"G'day my lady. What is to my ladies likings today? Does thou want me to perform another soulful melody, or do you have another request of activity we shall perform this fine evening," Micaiah says in a mock accent. Whether it be British or French I couldn't really tell. I think it was almost a cross between both. I chuckle at his failed attempt at an accent, and reach out to run my hand through his already messy hair.

"Your accent still needs some work. I couldn't tell if you were going for British or French."

"No, you've got it all wrong. I clearly was trying to show you how well I have perfected this new accent I like to call a Brench accent, or maybe it should be called a Fritish accent. What do you think?"

"I think you've definitely got a few loose screws." We both laugh, and I can feel the tension in all my muscles dissipate with the free feeling of laughter coming so naturally from somewhere inside my broken frame.

"C'mon, we've got a free period today. Let's head back to a practice room, and I can hear that new song you wanted me to listen to."

We head back to the practice room farthest from the classroom, and Micaiah shuts the door as I take my place at the piano. My fingers grace up the keys—from the lowest note to the highest—and back down again. I look up to see Micaiah situated on the floor, and he nods as a cue for me to start when I'm ready. I position my fingers on the starting keys, and with a single deep breath I play.

As soon as the first notes fill the room, the tears begin to fall again. I can feel my hands tremble as they press into the ivory keys. Each note projects every emotion that bleeds from my heart as they fade into the air. I can hear the lyrics I've already written for this particular song echoing from the recesses of my mind, each word lingering on each emotion. My heart is throbbing inside my chest, begging to be set free from the cage it has been entrapped in. Almost as if it would be willing to wound itself if it meant breaking free of its bonds.

_Do you hear that dad, my heart breaks because of you. You destroy me. Every night you don't come home only makes it worse. How long will you have me suffer? Do you not see that my heart has had enough? How long until you realize I just need you to come back home... come back to your family... to me. I need you, daddy, and your hardly ever there._

I play the last string of notes, and immediately raise my hands to wipe the tears from my eyes. _You only make me cry._ My hands are pulled from my face, and I find it hard to meet the gaze of electric blue that's bleeding emotions for me. Micaiah's arms wrap around me, and I bury my face in the crook of his neck.

"You don't have to hide your tears. Not from me. You know that don't you?"

I nod, unable to find my voice.

"I'm here for you whenever you need me, Ly. Just say the word, and I'm there. No one should have to take on the world by themselves."

_I've been facing it alone since my life first fell, Micaiah._

The final bell rings, and I force myself to let him go. _Sinking deeper... deeper... deeper._ Back into the all too familiar consuming loneliness. As I open the door I am startled by the quick moving figure dashing off down the hall. It was a boy with brown auburn hair. His eyes met mine for a split second before he rounded the corner, and I noted how those grey-hazel eyes widened in what appeared to be shock and quite possibly recognition.

As I pull my bag from my locker and head up to the roof, I try to recall where I had seen him before. I had seen those eyes before, but it felt like I was trying to recall a memory from a different lifetime. From a time I had always so desperately tried to will myself to forget, but never succeeded. Though, maybe I did succeed in forgetting. Forgetting all the little things that came during that time in my life, but at which point of the accumulating bad did this boy with brown auburn hair and beautiful eyes come into play.

I sigh in defeat when nothing comes to mind, and take a seat a safe distance from the very edge of the roof. I made an effort to shove aside all thoughts of the boy, but those thoughts only fought harder to resurface every time. My homework sits untouched in my lap, and I toss the back into my bag.

My phone dings just as I was about to stand and leave, finding this time away from home and my life wasn't very helpful. I pull it out of the side pocket on my bag, and see I have a new text. I quickly type in the password, and pull up the text.

**_From Camden:_ **

_I got the kids home safe. Do you want me to stay with them until you get home?_

_**To Camden:** _

_You don't have to. I was just about to head home anyways._

I type in my quick reply and send it off, and another text appears on screen a second later.

**_From Camden:_ **

_I'll stay until you get back. I don't have anything going on tonight and I'm pretty sure these kids would tackle me before I could reach the door._

**_To Camden:_ **

_Lol. Okay, I'll see you when I get there. Thanks for doing this for me._

**_From Camden:_ **

_No problem ;)_

I shove my phone back into the side pocket, and sling my bag over my right shoulder. Instead of taking the long way down, I swing myself down onto the ladder on the far left side of the building. The metal rungs freeze my skin with every touch, and I'm thankful when my feet finally hit the ground. I huff out a breath as I round the corner, and watch as the little, white cloud of breath fades into the sky.

As soon as I came to the road my eyes fell to the awful sight on the other side. There was a young boy stumbling to the ground, as a group of other boys—none of them seeming to be much more than a few years older than myself—threw punches, heads tossing back in laughter. I found myself frozen as I watched as one of the tormentors held the boy down, his combat boots nearly crushing his chest. Another boy stepped forward, swinging his foot harshly into the boys side, and—with the clear cracking of bone—I went running to the other side of the street.

Startled by my sudden presence, the group that had been tormenting the boy left lying bloodied on the concrete went scattering away. The boy left lying on the ground looked to me with a seemingly terrified expression, and he cringed away—curling in on himself—as I dropped to the ground next to him. He groaned as he attempted to push himself away from me, but I reached out to hold him still. I met those eyes that I could feel on me the entire time I looked over his crumpled, bloodied figure, and was startled to find those same grey-hazel eyes that had been stuck in my mind since this boy ran off down the hall. The boy looked away quickly, as if something about me made everything hurt that much more. He flinched away again when I reached out to touch the bruise that was now forming on his cheek, but as my fingers gently graced his skin his eyes fluttered shut before opening to meet my gaze again.

"Shh, it's okay," I reassure him. He moves ever so slightly, and lets out a sharp cry. I find myself cupping his face in my hands, and forcing him to hold my gaze. Just then, a snowflake falls down and lands on the tip of my nose, and something about the world seemed to get a little brighter.

Panic washed over me as the boys eyes rolled into the back of his head before his eyelids fell shut over them, and his body fell limp. I could feel the tears sting at the corners of my eyes as I frantically pulled out my phone to call for an ambulance. When I hear the voice pick up on the other end the words come tumbling out—barely understandable—as the sobs begin to wrack my body once again. Once the person on the other end hangs up, I pull the boy into my arms and hold him there until they arrive.

"Please be okay," I choke out. "Don't leave... please, be okay. God, _please_ , let him be okay."

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!  
> I'm gonna tell you now that this was only a quick update because I had two chapters done by the time I decided to post this story. So, I can't promise how long it will take me to publish anymore.

Hazel fills my mind with visions of two circular gems staring back at me, a pleading expression. Their shine fades as the life dies from the figure lying beneath my trembling hands that press tightly to the wound where the stream of crimson flows from them. Painting my flesh in the blood of the victim that had long since drowned in the sea of red that stained them in the last moments of their life. The sinking feeling of knowing I can't help them overwhelms me. I was trying to save a life I had let die in the first place.

_Cowardice, that's what cost them their life. I was a coward, because that's the way my father had made me. He took what strength I had and tore it down. My father reduced me to nothing more than a fragmented shadow in the background of everyone else's lives._

My eyes flutter open for a brief moment in my half conscious state, and I'm well aware of the contraption I'm lying on moving swiftly down a hall. I see a blur of white. A hospital? I couldn't entirely tell. The girl who had saved me from a more severe beating—which I undoubtedly would have received—was still by my side as I was rolled through the corridor. She only parted from me when I was rolled through a set of double doors, and one of the nurses stopped her from following. The last thing I heard before I slipped out of consciousness again was the sound of her frantic voice as the double doors concealed me from her view.

"Please, will he be alright? His family needs to know that he's here, and... I need to be sure he's gonna be okay. I want to stay with him, _please_."

 _Family? What family? All my family's dead_ , I thought, before I was gone again. Fallen to a state where only my unconscious thoughts could consume me.

_"Shh, it's okay."_

_Her voice was soft, like a whisper. Almost how you'd imagine an angels voice to be, if you could hear such things. Emotions are bled through her every word in a tenderness that I don't think anyone could fully comprehend._

_I couldn't help but let my eyes flutter shut as she reached out a hand and traced her fingers down my bruising cheek. Her touch was gentle, soft against my aching skin. I could feel electricity buzz in my veins when she held my face gently in her hands, forcing me to meet those same hazel eyes I knew from long ago. I could feel the guilt gnawing on my insides, but I couldn't find it in myself to care. I was entranced. My breath hitched in my throat as the first snowflake of the night fell on the tip of her nose, and the world around her seemed to glow. It was as if my world had been growing dim—day by day—and something about this girl lit it all up again._

_I could feel her panic as something drew me away from my conscious mind, and the world fell black around me. I felt like I was drifting weightless in a world between a conscious and unconscious state, like part of me still wanted to be able to hear this girls voice and still know when her touch is on my skin. The other part of me wanted to lie dormant, to allow myself to enter into the world of unconscious thoughts. Though, I seemed to have already stepped past the door to the unconscious realm of thoughts, I could still hear her every word and feel as she pulled me into her arms. It wasn't till the demons from the recesses of my mind drug me away from her that I was finally back to the land where they could rule over me, the only place they ever had any power._

_"This is why you have so many sleepless nights, because you let the demons have that sort of power in a world where you should have full control. Why do you allow yourself to be backed into corners by monsters you create in your own mind? You are free of the man who made you into that cowardly little boy. Is it not enough to be free of the demon that controlled you in the real world?" The disembodied voice questioned._

_"How can I expect to find an answer to the questions you ask if I have no idea where to start searching?" I respond._

_"No. The questions you ask. I am you. We are one in the same. Without you I would cease to exist. This is why you find things so difficult. You have so many sides to you, and you can never find the balance between. You are the reason why you have so many wars surging on inside."_

_We both fall silent for a moment, or rather I fall silent._

_Dark is the only thing I see, surrounding me on all sides, yet I could still see an indistinct figure lying on the white sheets of a hospital bed off in the distance. I approach the sleeping figure—a head of brown auburn hair creeping into view—and for a minute I'm terrified that it's me. Almost like I'm having an out of body experience. My eyes sting as a wave of emotion hits me right in_ _the heart. The figure lying before me is my older brother. His hair is styled the way it was the day of the funeral. His eyes stare up into the darkness; lifeless, no longer holding the colour they once held._

_Despite promising myself I would never shed another tear, I allow myself this one time to let them fall. With the tears come the accusatory voices. They never cease to remind me of all I have done wrong in my sixteen years of life. I collapse to my knees, hands covering my ears to tune them out but they still come._

_"It's your fault they're dead, you know," the voices taunt. "Every single one of them. Your mother..."_

_"Shut up," I choked through a sob, voice barely a whisper._

_"Your brother..."_

_The words hit me hard, and now I can feel the anger bubbling up inside me. Along with every other sinking, guilty emotion that has always reminded me it's my fault._

_"Shut up!"_

_"Even that demon of a father who abused you."_

_"Shut up! Just shut up! I-it wasn't my fault! No-none of i-it was my fault! It was my mu-mum who took her own life! That wasn't my fault! It wasn't my choice!"_

_"Oh, but it was," the voices argued. "Even your father knew that. Why do you think he was so cruel to you all those years? He was the one who understood it was your fault for your mother's decision to take her own life."_

_"No!" I quake as the sobs continued to wrack my body. "I couldn't have done anything to prevent her from doing it. I didn't know anything was wrong until I found her already lifeless body."_

_"Exactly! You. Found. Her. Too late."_

_"I couldn't... it wasn't... even if I had found her while she was still alive, I wouldn't have been able to save her."_

_"True, you always were a pathetic little creature. Weren't you? Just like that damn sick boy of an older brother you had."_

_"Don't you dare speak about my brother that way!" I retaliate, anger finally bubbling over. Alaric had been nothing but good to me. He gave me strength where I had none._

_"It was your fault for his death as well, you know that don't you?"_

_"He was sick. Stage four lung cancer. His condition was terminal. If the doctors couldn't do anything for him, how was I supposed to save him?"_

_"What's your excuse for your father's death then? Murdered in cold blood, and everyone's first suspect was you. His youngest son, the last of his family still alive, who just so happened to have an awful relationship with him. A father who would have cared less about you, if he had_ _even cared about you at all. How do you explain that?" I could hear the amusement in their voices. Those evil voices that lurked in the back of my mind._

 _"Even if you weren't the one who had shoved that knife through his heart, you had been the one who wasn't around to stop it all from happening. Everything, every death in your family happened because you had failed to save them. It's all because of you that your now just a little orphan boy living with his grandparents. No_ _one to love you. No one to care. Just a broken boy, in a broken house, living a broken life."_

 _"Shut up! I know I'm alone! You think I don't feel it every second of every day! From the moment I wake up to the moment I fall asleep, I feel it! I-I just... want it to go away. I don't want to be alone anymore. Please, take this all away. Just take it all away." My voice faded out on those last few words as the silent tears continued_ _to fall. I waited for the voices to continue to taunt me, but they didn't. Not in the way they usually did. Instead, they taunted me with silence. I was alone. Sinking deeper... deeper... deeper. Until that loneliness, once again, consumes me._

 _A shadow casts over my trembling body. A figure now stands before me, but I don't dare look. My eyes go wide at the familiar feeling of gentle, calloused hands running through my thick hair. The person standing in front of me kneels down, and tilts my head so I can't help but meet those jade green eyes I have missed so much. A smile graces the lips of the man in_ _front of me, and the sobs crush me harder when I see that perfect, dimpled smile. The man just chuckles, and ruffles my hair before pulling me into a tight hug._

_"Don't cry, kid. I know life likes to beat your ass into the ground as much as the kids at school do, but don't let it get you down," the man says, his husky voice laced with what could only be described as fond for the pathetic figure he was holding in his arms._

_"I can't believe I've even survived this long without you. I miss you, Alaric."_

_"I know, little brother, but you've done good. I'm proud of you."_

_The world falls cold. I no longer feel those strong arms holding me. I no longer hear that husky voice, or see those jade green eyes. I'm met by only darkness and silence, and suddenly I'm falling. The ground is coming close, ready to break every bone in my body and take me away to where Alaric and my mum are. I close my eyes, tears still falling, and wait for the landing to come, but it doesn't._

When I open my eyes I'm greeted by the white tile ceiling of my hospital room. The only light in the room comes from a dimly lit lamp in the corner of the room. The window on the wall farthest from the door clearly showed it was dark outside.

_How long had I been out?_

I attempt to sit up, only to be brought back down by the sharp pain shooting through my ribs. I was also startled by the realization that there was someone clinging tightly to my hand. When looked down I saw the hazel eyed girl from earlier, stirring slightly from my failed attempt at sitting up. She had one arm underneath mine, hand clasped tightly around mine. Her other arm she was using as a pillow. There was an ache building in my heart with every second I kept my gaze on the little sleeping beauty.

"I want to stay with him, _please_." The last words I heard her say earlier, before I had passed out again, echo in my mind.

_Why? Why did you stay? Do you remember me from that one time back when we first met when we were kids? Not likely, but... why, then? Why do you care enough to worry over me, and stay by my side? I am only a stranger, a fragmented shadow in the background of your life. Why care so much about the broken shadow that only lives in the background?_

Almost as if she sensed my being awake, her eyes fluttered open. Those hazel eyes I had feared to meet earlier held an innocence that could make any corrupt man squirm under her gaze as she looked up at me. Seeming to realize she was holding my hand, she quickly pulled her hand from mine as she sat up. It was ice. An immediate cold sweeping through my fingers, my hand, from her absence. Frozen limbs now lie motionless, longing for her warmth. She ran her fingers through her the tangles in her dark, chestnut brown hair, and rubbed the bleariness from her eyes.

"I-I just wanted to be sure you were alright," she said, voice hoarse from having just woken up. "I didn't..." She trailed off, reaching out cautiously and brushed her thumb over my cheek, which I just now realized were tear stained. Her eyes go wide with concern, and I find it hard to hold her gaze. I should feel embarrassed for being seen in such a vulnerable state, but I can't find it in myself to care.

"You... you were crying?" She searches my face like she can find the explanation there, and moves closer to me when she finds nothing.

"Are you alright? A-and, don't just say that you are, because I know what that really means. I know, well enough, when people are lying about being alright, so don't think I won't know if your lying. If you don't wanna tell me that's fine, but... I know how it feels to say that you're alright and desperately wish that you could've genuinely meant it."

I could tell by the look in her eyes that she wasn't lying, but I guess I already knew that she had been through hell equal to some of the things I've been through. Though, it makes me wonder what hells—other than the one I know of—she has experienced in her lifetime. I'd seen her at school, a bright smile on her face every time I saw her. Today had been the first time I had seen those eyes red rimmed, and I was praying I would never have to witness such a painful expression on her face ever again.

Silence takes the room as I try to find an answer to her question, but I honestly don't know. I mean, I'm clearly not alright, but beyond that I don't know the extent of the pain I am feeling at the moment. All I can feel is the sinking loneliness.

"Do you ever feel like your on the outside looking in?" I'm startled to find it's my voice saying these words. She seems just as surprised by my voice as I am. It takes her a moment to respond, but I honestly wouldn't have been surprised if she hadn't.

"Like your standing outside of your own body. Screaming, and you seem to be the only one who can hear you. Yet, your moving forward through your life like your not falling apart inside," she says more like it's a common fact than a question, and I nod.

"Almost like your having an out of body experience, like how they'd depict in movies. Yet, the only change is that your inside walls are shattering, while what's on the outside remains the same," I say, heart hammering fearfully at how easy these words seem to slip out. I've never said any of this to anyone before, yet here I am telling her.

"And no one can tell that your drowning on dry land," we say, and laugh a little at the mix of our voices. I'm almost terrified by how well we both know the feeling. The feeling of swimming in an ocean that only exists in our minds, but still finding ourselves only sinking to the depths below. The feeling of constantly struggling for a breath of air, yet the world remains oblivious to our most obvious struggle.

"I know the feeling," hazel eyes says, eyes going glossy. "That's how I feel every day..."

"Every night..." I continue for her. "In every waking moment. It makes you feel like you're sinking deeper and deeper into the loneliness that already consumes you. So, I guess the answer to your question is, no. I'm not alright. But... I don't think I have been alright in a very long time."

"Why?" When I don't answer she says, "I'm sorry, that's probably too personal a question. Too painful to think about, much less talk about."

"It's okay," I assure her. "It's just, earlier when you were begging that nurse to let you stay with me, you said my family needs to know where I am. Well, I don't exactly have a family. I mean, I live with my grandmum and grandad, but that's different. A _different_ kinda family."

"Oh." Is all she responds. She has her bottom lip pulled between her teeth, and I can tell she's trying desperately not to cry right now.

"So, how long until I can get out of here?" I ask, trying to take her thoughts away from our painful lives. I don't want to see her cry. Seeing her with red rimmed eyes was enough of a painful sight to see. Seeing her full on crying would be much worse.

"The nurse told me that they wanted to have you stay long enough to ice your ribs and ask you a few questions in the morning, but that you should probably be able to leave by noon tomorrow." When I frown, she adds, "I can stay with you if you want. Just so you have some company. I mean, I can't exactly leave right now anyways."

"Why not?"

"Blizzard." She stands up and moves swiftly over to the window. "So much for just a little snow," she says, a half smile pulling at her lips as she draws back the curtain so I can see. My eyes are met by the dark of night and a thick, harshly blowing sheet of white. Sighing, she gazes out into the sheet of white before letting the curtain fall closed again.

"I hope Shyle and Miho are alright," she whispers under her breath.

"Who?"

She smiles fondly as she responds, "My siblings. Well, half-siblings, that is. They're just kids." She takes her seat again before continuing. "Miho still gets these awful nightmares. Sometimes Shyle will come into my room crying because he's screaming, and she can't seem to get him to wake up and calm down. I just hope that my babysitter can handle it if it happens tonight."

I don't dare ask why she has a babysitter when her father could watch them. It'd probably be prying into something too painful to discuss, and I don't want to go back into that area of conversation.

"I'm Lydia, by the way." She extends her hand to me, voice cheery like nothing in her life has ever gone wrong. I almost want to believe it hasn't, but I already know the truth.

"Bastian," I say, offering a small smile as I shake her hand. My skin tingles when her touch sends a surge of electricity through my veins, and I have to resist the urge to pull away. _What was that? No one has ever done that to me before. The electricity pulsates within._ My body has already begun to crave the sensation her touch elicits. When she finally lets go, the loneliness tightens its hold on me.

Lydia's pale rose pink lips curl into the most charming smile, and—despite the tiredness behind them—her eyes shine like they are smiling as well. My heart skips a beat at the thought that I was the one who brought that smile to her face. I was the one who made those eyes glow so brightly. For once, I had done something good. I didn't break this already broken girl sitting before me any further.

_No, this girl means nothing to you! You were supposed to avoid meeting her at all costs. What if she does remember? What if she just hasn't said anything about it? What if she discovers what you've tried so hard to keep hidden all these years?_

I swallow hard, the fear writhing in my chest as I finally look away. I can practically hear my heart beating, and wonder if she can hear it too. They hadn't hooked me up to the heart monitor. Probably didn't think it necessary since all I had were bruises and a few cracked ribs. Besides, I would most likely be discharged by noon tomorrow. Still, can she hear it?

I steal another glance, and my heart stops for a minute. The world still hasn't lost its glow from earlier. In fact, it only seems to be getting brighter with every second I hold her gaze. I allow myself a moment to take in the small details of her face. My eyes first travel down to her lips. They look soft, the pale rose colour matches that of the colour in her cheeks. I notice now that she has a small array of freckles on her cheeks and nose. My eyes travel back up to hers, taking in the fair, creamy white colour of her skin as they trail upwards. I notice now how the hazel colour of her eyes seems more defined by her thick eyelashes.

Strange emotions stir inside my heart. Ones of... what is it? Fond? Lust? Love?

_No, it can't be any of those? Beyond a name, I don't really have any idea who this girl is. She's just a stranger. A stranger I just happened to meet at a crossroad on the paths we follow in our lives. Soon we'll both choose which direction to take on that road—right, left, or straight forward—and our paths will never cross again._

_"Oh, love, if you only knew," those taunting voices say. "Just because you made that promise, doesn't mean you're actually gonna keep it. Your experiencing something you've never felt before. Do you honestly think running from it will make it disappear? Did you honestly think you could actually keep that promise you made long ago? You'll run and run, but you'll only find yourself falling deeper... and deeper... and deeper. Soon you'll hit rock bottom, and you'll realize how foolish it was to run. Though, knowing you, you'll probably realize it too late."_

*******

At some point we had both fallen asleep, Lydia remaining in the seat next to my bed despite having a more comfortable chair she could lie back on in the corner of the room. I now lie awake, cold sweat beading on my forehead and rolling down my slightly pale skin. I've never had much luck with sleep, and judging by the tired look in Lydia's eyes that I had noticed earlier, neither had she. She was asleep now though, while I remained wide awake, wishing sleep would quit betraying me. I could always get in an hour or two, but then the nightmares would settle in and I'd either jerk awake or wake to my own screams echoing off the walls.

Tonight, neither of those happened. I just woke up, cold sweat drenching my skin, and hardly any recollection of what my nightmare had even consisted of. I screwed my eyes shut, trying to remember what it had been this time, but nothing came to me. I wipe the sweat from my face with my free hand, realizing that—at some point in our slumber—Lydia had taken a hold of my other hand again. Her fingers are intertwined with mine, and the throbbing in my heart is back full force. I take a moment to watch the little beauty sleeping peacefully by my side. I swallow hard as I realize what my heart is doing within its cage, and I finally force myself to remove my hand from her gentle hold. I can't deny the existence of those strange feelings that so subtly creep in when I allow myself a moment to take in the little things about this girl.

_No, this stranger. My subconscious reminds me. You know a name, a face, and a small piece to her tragic past. She is nothing more than that, and that's how things should stay. Those emotions will never grow into more if you don't allow them to, so don't._

It wasn't the first I'd experienced those feelings, though. I've felt them in moments when I'd catch myself watching her at school from down the hall, after having realized how close our lockers were. I've also noticed that my hearts rhythm would steadily increase as I near her in the halls, stopping for the brief moment when I pass her by, and just as steadily decreasing as the distance between us magnified once again. That's why I've been avoiding passing her by in the halls. 'Cause all they will ever be is an undesired spark that kindles to a faintly glowing fire when I see her. All it will ever be is an insignificant flame that will soon be snuffed out by my lack of desire for it to remain.

I carefully slide out from under the sheets, trying to not make too much noise or movement that could possibly stir Lydia back to consciousness. I have to suppress a groan when a sharp pain shoots through me, and I'm temporarily blinded by the burning sensation it leaves. There's a dim light shining in through the window from behind the curtains, and as I creep across the room to the bathroom I take a moment to glimpse the world outside. The snow is still falling in a thick sheet, but not as heavily or forcefully as it was earlier.

Stepping onto the cool tiles of the bathroom, I close the door behind me before pulling my shirt up to examine my aching side. I let a string of curses fall out of my mouth as I find a bandage covering the entirety of my wounded body. I'm surprised I didn't feel it. I let my shirt fall back down, and move to the sink to splash some water on my face. The incessant throbbing in my head continues on more powerfully as the water meets my burning skin.

"Dammit!" I groan, rubbing my hand across my forehead and back through my already messy hair. Unthinkingly, I launched my fist at the wall, just narrowly missing the mirror that hung in front of me. The skin on my knuckles tore open, red replacing where pale skin had once been smoothed over. I hissed out another string of profanities, clinging my newly injured hand to my chest.

My breathing was ragged as I stepped back out into the dull hospital room, but my breaths abruptly stopped along with my body as those shocked, concerned hazel eyes met mine. I mentally beat myself over the head. Of course she could hear that. She'd probably still be a peacefully sleeping angel if I hadn't gone and tried to break my hand the damn wall. Now she sat with her eyes locked on my hand where it was still held in place against my chest, and concern clear on her every feature.

I quickly shift my hand to where she couldn't see it quite as well, and whispered a quick but sincere, "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you." I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Her expression—after hearing me apologize—shifted to one of shock and utter disbelief, but quickly changed back that same disconcerting anxious expression. It made it seem as if her expression would never change again.

"Are you hurt? What happened? It sounded like you hit something, like you were trying to hurt yourself. Are you okay? Let me see. Tell me what hurts." Lydia's words were coming out in a urgent rush. Her words and tone left me dumbstruck, made my heart ache. It sounded like she was rushing out an apology for my being hurt, as if it were her fault. "Do you want me to get the nurse? I can see if I can talk to the nurse or a doctor or someone to get you painkillers or something."

_Who the hell is this girl? Since when did I ever become deserving of concern or consideration? Especially from this fine specimen sitting before me who probably always gets less than what she deserves. It makes my heart ache with guilt. What the hell is wrong with me? Argh! I'm such an idiot!_

"No, you don't have to get the nurse. I'm fine. I just a hit a wall. The pain is more than easy to bear. I've definitely been through worse." It was only a half lie. I didn't need a nurse, that was definitely true. Being fine, well the pain was a little beyond being bearable—like fire on my skin with no source to snuff out—but either way I would survive. It was also more than true that I'd been through worse pain than this. In both a physical and emotional sense.

"You. Hit. A. Wall." She seemed stunned as she spoke each word like an individual sentence. Each word sounded both like a question and a statement, and I wasn't sure if I was supposed to respond as if it were a question or if she was just taking the time to let that all sink it. Maybe it was both, so I just shrugged in response.

"Why would you do that?" I almost wanted to laugh at both her tone and her expression. Concern for my well being—for whatever bizarre reason—was still evident in both, but underlying that, attempting to fight to the surface, was a hint of amusement. _Just like any other human being,_ I thought, a smirk playing on my lips, _amused by pain as well as deeply concerned by it._

"More like, why wouldn't I punch a wall? Better than taking my frustration for my _fallen-to-shit_ life out on myself or someone else. Well, okay, I sort of did take it out on myself." I examined my aching knuckles. "Take it out on myself more often than not, but that's at least better than taking it out on someone... someone else."

 _Someone like you_ , my mind supplied me with the unfinished thought. _Some who looks so fragile. So undeserving of any pain I would thrust upon you if I didn't have brain and heart enough to keep myself from it._

Lydia's eyes softened, the cutest smile gracing her lips and making my heart's rhythm stutter. She sighed contentedly before speaking, "You know, you're not deserving of pain either. Just because you got dealt a bad hand in this sometimes sickeningly twisted game we call life, doesn't mean you have to take it out on yourself." I was thrown off by her rueful tone, and by how she made it seem like she knew exactly what I had been thinking beforehand. Her tone had completely contradicted the content sigh I heard just a second ago.

"If I'm not taking it out on myself, but also refraining from taking it out on others, I find it will blow up at some later moment. My irritation for my _barely-worth-living_ life would be pent up inside, building on my already crumbling inside walls, and it would either find a way through my defenses to the surface or shatter me completely from the inside." I could hear the reluctance in my reply, like I knew she would respond badly to my reply, to the way I saw things. I was right to be wary of how she would respond. Her expression was hard to place, maybe 'cause it was a mix of things, but it mostly expressed mild anger and a hint of fear.

"How could you even—" she started to say, but was cut off abruptly as there was knock on the door and a moment later a nurse walked in. I quickly moved back to the bed and sat cross legged on the mattress.

"G'morning, my name is Vikki. I'll be the one to make sure we can get ya' outta here before the days up, so long as you don't try to put up a fight," the nurse says, flashing her perfect teeth in a broad grin as she crosses the room to my bedside. She looks to be about a head shorter than me. Her frame is on the heavier side, and if not for it being just the right amount past too heavy she would've looked somewhat attractive. Her golden brown hair—which she has secured in a ponytail—makes her olive toned skin appear to be one of, if not the most, fetching of her traits.

"How are you feeling today? Well rested, I hope. You were out for quite a while when you came in. Any pain?"

"Naw, I'm fine. I mean, I've had better and worse, so I can't really complain about this." Her large, mud brown eyes—which make her look as if she is the one needing to be hospitalized by how drained of life they appear—scan my face suspiciously for some sign of dishonesty, but she finds nothing.

"Yeah, from the sounds of it you were quite lucky to have this fine young lady step in," she said, clapping her hand on Lydia's shoulder. Lydia looked down as if she were embarrassed by this most obvious statement. I had been lucky. More than lucky.

"Made me feel bloody awful for having to keep her from following the doctors as they rushed you in for examination. Worried sick, the poor dear..."

"I'm gonna go get some breakfast," Lydia interrupted, and I don't don't know what expression crossed my face at the mention of her _leaving_ but she was quick to reassure me. "I'm not leaving you. I'll be waiting right outside when I get back, so just come and find me whenever your done here." I didn't have time to respond before she had disappeared from the room, and I couldn't help but wonder what look had crossed my face that made her respond like that.

"Alrighty, let's not keep her waiting long. If you'll remove your shirt so I can get to the bandages, you'll hopefully be out of here within an hour. Though, if your bruises look worse than they had when you first came in," she grimaced at the thought before continuing, "then we may want to keep ice on it for closer to two hours. Scared the doctors with how bad it looked. Made 'em think your ribs puncture something. Lucky you, though. There wasn't anything punctured. Just some bones needing mended."

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and swallowed back a cry of pain as I pulled it off over my head. While Vikki worked quickly to remove the bandages and examine the bruising, I couldn't help but wonder how worried Lydia had really been. It makes me uneasy knowing I caused her any form of distress. But when I pushed out those thoughts they come falling back in from the other direction. I sat through the first five minutes, after Lydia took her leave, trying to empty my mind of those insignificant worries, but they always came reeling back in.

"So, when you say she was worried... exactly _how_ worried was she?" I finally ask, not entirely sure I wanna know the answer. It'll probably just make me feel worse, 'causing an _almost_ -stranger so much trouble and anxiety. And someone who probably already goes through hell day in and day out. Vikki smiles, a sympathetic look in her eyes.

"Your girl wouldn't stop moving, couldn't get her calm enough to sit down. She just kept pacing back and forth across the hall until we let her in to see you. We tried to get to her wait 'till you were awake, but she was already nearly half out of her mind. I was surprised she didn't walk a hole into the floor," Vikki chuckles lightly and continues, "You could almost literally see the relief washing out all anxiety. Almost like how people describe the sudden rush of emotions as _'waves of emotion.'_ For her, it's like those _'waves of emotion'_ are tangible within her world of existence.

"It must make her existence much more difficult, having to deal with emotions the way she does. She's a miracle, too be honest. If you saw her the way she was last night you'd probably understand what I mean. Her emotions appear to come at her in excessive amounts—meaning she seems to feel things ten times worse than a _normal_ person does—yet, somehow, she manages to bear it all. Only God knows what she's been through to have that much strength to carry through all this."

It took me a moment to reel it all in, to allow myself to believe that one girl, whom I barely know, would take time out of her life to give a damn about me. In the end, I still didn't fully believe it. I'm surprised she even wants to be associated with me. Living in this town, she probably knows the rumors that circulated a few years back. Over half the town believed the accusations that were being thrown around about me being the reason my father's dead. Of course, no evidence was ever found against me, and even when they caught the man who did it... a lot of people thought it was all a set up. Some cockamamie scheme I devised so I could roam around a free man. I still get shit for that. Day in and day out, as if my own mind doesn't give me enough shit for it.

"Don't fret, love," Vikki says, giving me a one armed hug as she tosses the old bandages in the trash. "Your girl's fine now. Soon you'll be just as well."

"Thanks, but she's not _my_ girl," I reply. _I don't know that she's anyone's girl._ "I met her when we were real young, but that was just one insignificant moment that I doubt she even remembers. So, as far as relationships go, we're pretty much strangers."

"Really? Well, for being _pretty much strangers_ you guys seem to have a lot of chemistry—"

"No. We really don't," I interject, not even wanting to entertain the idea that I could ever possibly be with Lydia in an way, shape, or form. Despite being rudely interrupted, Vikki just laughs like I've just told her the most hilarious joke in the world.

"That's what you believe, for now, but anyone with a decent pair of eyes can see the natural chemistry you two have. You know, I bet even a blind man could see it. But if you wanna believe there's nothing there then there's nothing there. Also, I wouldn't go saying that the one time you met when you were kids is insignificant, because it clearly means something to you if you've remembered it all this time. To her, it may mean something more than you think it does, so don't just go believing she's completely forgotten it. Maybe it just needs to resurface."

"Or maybe it was during one of the most painful times in her life, and she just repressed it because thinking about it means having to let that pain back in," I snap back, because, more than likely, that is exactly what happened. Exactly why recognition didn't flash on her face by the sound of my name.

"Maybe," Vikki replies, her tone stating that she clearly understood I wouldn't elaborate on the situation I was referring to.

By the time I was discharged my eyes were aching from staring at nothing but white; white ceiling, white tiled floors and white painted walls, white bed sheets, white pillow... just white _everything!_ After getting the ice set on my, now numb from cold, ribs, Vikki was in and out. She'd hang around as long as she could before she'd have to shuffle off to check on another patient that needs attending to, and, though her general aura was calming, it wasn't her company that I wanted. It wasn't her company that made me feel... I don't really know what I felt. Complete? Almost like the company I desire has a healing effect, like she's the stitches to a wound that's been open so long that I don't even realize the wound's there until she's gone and it's opened up again.

As I move pull my shirt back over my head, I notice the world outside has settled. The storm is now a gentle flurry of white against a faded, baby blue sky. My eyes flit anxiously from the door to the window. _Would she leave me because the weather finally settled? Because she has kid siblings to go home to, even though she has a babysitter there with them? Would she leave without telling me?_ I held myself in the center of the room, a statue carved from nothing more than my internal fear. I wasn't sure that was something I was ready to discover the answer to.

_You want this, Bastian. You need her to be gone. It'll make this much easier on you. You'll finally be able to continue on with your life, forever avoiding her, if she's not there._

_'But what if she is there?'_ I argued, wanting nothing more than to smack myself over the head for letting myself fall into the trap of an internal argument.

_Then you'll find another way to get yourself out of this damn mess! Don't let yourself fall into this!_

_'I'm not falling into anything!'_

_Are you sure about that?_

Ignoring the last question, I finally allowed myself to take those shaky few steps to the door. I shuddered as my fingers met the cool metal of the doorknob, and—as I opened the door and stepped out into the hall—I nearly bolted right back through the room and launched myself at the window. Which, hopefully, would've cut me up so badly that no one could put me back together. My heart was running rampant in my chest, eyes scanning and rescanning the halls for the vaguely familiar head of dark chestnut hair.

_You clearly don't mean as much to her now that she knows your in perfect—well, nearly perfect—health. Everything can go back to the way it was. No harm done. That's what you want, isn't it?_

_'Yes, of course.'_

_Then why are you still looking? What is she to you?_

I fell silent. I could barely tell I has started moving, eyes still hunting from head to head, face to face, as half of me fell back into my mind to find an answer, but returned with nothing my conscious mind could supply me with. I don't know if I know the answer to that question.

As my feet continued to carry me forward, I realize how frayed my nerves were. My thread of bearability for fatigue and emotionally striking situations was just moments from snapping, and her absence is only wearing those moments down faster. She's the only decent human being—other than Vikki or my only friend who lives in this lousy town—that I've interacted with in almost a year. I couldn't even include my grandparents in the list of decent people I've interacted with, because I always make sure I'm out of the house before or after them and they never see me return home either. I doubt they even know I still live with them, but, then again, my grandmum would've called the police by now if they thought I wasn't returning home safe every night.

I'm immediately frozen in my tracks when I spot her standing—watching the flurry of snow falling—by the exit. I don't know whether to feel relieved that she was still waiting, or worried that perhaps I had caught her just as she was about to ditch me. As if sensing my slow approach, Lydia turned to face me. Her face is glowing, like she is a fragment of the sun that only people who can see her as clearly as I could in this moment would be able to see. Finally, my eyes catch sight of the two styrofoam cups with the coffee house's signature label printed on it in her hand, and I realized she had left me... but for some odd reason she came back. She, too, looked down at the cups in her hand, and shyly offered me one.

_Why? Why did you come back?_

"I-I know I said I wouldn't leave," she says, looking at her feet as she shifted anxiously. "But, I thought something warm would to drink would be nice, so I just ran to the coffee house quick. It's not that far. Just a block or two north of here. Sorry I left, and sorry I didn't really know what to get you. I hope you like it."

It made me feel ashamed for some reason. Knowing that she spent her money—that she probably needs for other things—on me. No matter how big or small the cost, I'm not worth wasting money on. The shame made the weight of the drink in my hand like a thousand pounds instead of less than probably even one. It made the faint heat seeping from the cup to deep inside my skin like fire that could turn my skin and bones to ashes within a few seconds. But I couldn't refuse it now that the deed was done. It would only make me feel worse about her spending that money, knowing that I didn't even accept what she had spent it on.

"Thanks," I reply, taking a sip of the scalding, bitter-sweet liquid. It's a white chocolate mocha with whipped cream on top, my favorite drink during the winter weather. It's better than any hot chocolate I've ever had.

As we head out to the snowy street, I realize that neither of us has a coat to shield us from the cold, and I had to stop myself from reaching out and pulling her against me to keep her warm. I was mentally scolding myself for not having my leather jacket with me, on the one day it would've been most useful, as I continued to speak.

"You didn't have to waste money on me. I mean, it's not that I don't appreciate it. I just don't think it's right. You don't really know me, and it's not like you owed me anything. In fact, I probably am the one who owes you. You did save me from an even worse beating, though, they'll probably find some other time to corner me again. I just don't think you need to waste your money or time on someone like me." Lydia looked so lost in thought that I wasn't sure she'd heard me, and I nearly jumped out of my skin when she finally responded.

"Well, I don't think that's your decision to make. I can spend my money on, and time with, whomever I please. And I don't see what you've done to not deserve my time—"

"And I don't see what I've done to deserve it," I interject.

"—So, tell me. What have you done to be able to confidently say you're not worth my time or money? What's so _'wrong'_ with you that you find yourself undeserving?"

"Oh, I don't know, how about the fact that my dad was murdered some years back and everyone's first suspect was me? How about the fact that, even after they caught the culprit, there are a crap ton of people in this shitty town that suspect it was still me? How about the fact that people take one look at me, and all they see is some troubled, inherently evil little orphan bastard?"

"I don't. I could never believe that of someone. As for your father, I'm sorry. I'm sorry he died, and I'm sorry you were suspected of even having the heart—well, more the lack of one—to be able to murder him. It's not right, but since when is anything about this world ever right."

"Don't be sorry," I scoffed. "My father was an abusive asshole who never gave a damn about anyone but himself. In my opinion, he deserved what he got, but that still doesn't mean I did it. But, you think that matters."

"Yeah, actually, I do."

"Well, it doesn't matter to them! To this world. To this town. To hell with it all, they never gave a damn about me or the truth! That's what this world is meant for, isn't it? To force feed you a bunch of shit and lies, and toss the best people in this world into their own personal living hell!"

"That's their problem."

"They sure as hell do a good job of making it my problem as well!"

"Is that what that was about? Yesterday? With all those boys ganging up on you and beating you to a pulp? They're some of those people who believe you're the one who murdered your dad? Or, is that just the excuse they use to claim they have a right to try an' beat you to death?"

_What in the world can I say to make her go away? How can she even possibly still think I'm any bit of good to be around after all she's heard me say?_

A bitter sound rumbles past my lips from deep in my chest, and it takes me a moment to identify it as a laugh. I continue to laugh that ugly sound as a finally say, "What the heck is it gonna take for you to see that I am not a person you want to associate yourself with?"

"Is that was this is about? You wanna get rid of me?" She asks, and suddenly I'm not laughing, because the answer to that question is both no and yes. It's confusing. One part of me wants to be with her, because she keeps good company and she can actually stand to be around me despite what she knows. On the other hand, I know I shouldn't associate myself with her because I have no idea what in the hell I'd be getting myself into. I'm almost afraid to see what would happen if I had any emotional or personal tie to her. 'Cause, what if one day I wanted to walk away only to find I'd fallen in to deep? How in the world would I bounce back from something like that?

"If that's all you wanted you could've just said so. I didn't mean to be a nuisance. I'll leave you be if that's what you want."

"What? No, I... I don't know..."

"You don't know what? If you want to hang around me? You don't want me to hang around you, but you _don't know_ if you want to hang around me?"

"I don't know," I say again, voice barely above a whisper.

"Then what do you know? 'Cause I'm getting mixed signals here, and it's making my head spin to try an figure out what you want me to do."

I sighed, finally taking the time to realize that we'd stopped walking. We were standing on an empty sidewalk. The only sign of people were those who were already safe and secure in the warmth of the businesses in this part of town. Other than that, it was just us, silence standing between us. I take a step forward, motioning for her to follow.

"I like your company," I finally respond as we continue down the empty street, "but I don't think I'm the type of person you should associate with. It's not that I wouldn't like to be your friend, but I don't think an emotional tie to you would do me any good."

"Why not?"

"Because I promised I wouldn't hurt anyone else."

"And you think that if we are friends you would hurt me?"

"I don't know."

I'm a bit surprised when she doesn't ask me more. Like, _"What do you mean by 'hurt anyone else,'"_ or, _"Who did you promise that to,"_ or maybe even, _"What the heck to you mean by that?"_ She just completely overlooked it all. It was pretty much a confession that I've hurt people, and she doesn't seem to care.

Silence enveloped us, though the world around us was growing more lively. Door to door, more shops illuminated; neon signs glowing on the outside as a warm white or yellowish hued light shined out from within. People were now bustling along; lovers holding tightly to each other, families and friends laughing as they passed by. A world where our silence felt so insignificant, but is so defining in our ears. It felt like eons before either of us spoke again.

"About what you said at the hospital," hazel eyes started to say, "I don't think anyone's life is barely worth living. I know life is hell at times—it's the one thing I'll always know—but I don't think that means that your life isn't worth living. I also think that you're wrong about being bad to be associated with. You've done nothing wrong. At least, nothing I know of. And, I don't want you hurting yourself anymore." She took my hand in hers, light brushing her thumb over my busted knuckles.

"If you need someone to vent to, to keep yourself from this... or worse, I want to help. I like your company," she smirked as she repeated my words from earlier, and I could see that she genuinely meant it. "I know you think that a friendship between us wouldn't be a good idea, but if it keeps you from hurting yourself and makes you happy enough, I think it's worth a shot."

Lydia drops my hand, and looks longingly my direction as I continue forward and she doesn't. I pause, turning to face her. Is this where we would finally part? The loneliness was already creeping back in at the thought. I don't think I was ready for this to end, yet.

"Will I see you again?" She asks, a hopeful look gleaming in her eyes.

_How can I say no when you're so hopeful I'll say yes? I need to say no. Please, stop looking at me like that._

"I don't know," I reply. "Maybe."

"I hope I do." Those are her parting words to me as she turns to walk a different road.

_Here we are. We finally part from the cross roads, I think to myself. Now I finally know; you turn left and I go straight forward. Only one question still remains. Will I see you again?_

I continue forward. I don't exactly want to go home, but where else can I go at this point. My only friend in this town is there, at home. Where I could go and spend the rest of my day hanging out with him, but I don't want to go home yet. I want another moment, just one, with her.

 _What is she to you?_ The voice from earlier at the hospital asks again.

_'I don't know.'_

_Yes, you do. Maybe not in full, but you still know. So, why lie to yourself. Why not come forward and admit it?_

_'Admit what?'_

_Anything. So, I'll ask again, who is she to you?_

_'I don't know what or who she is to me.'_

A stranger? I'd like to say yes, but even the answer to that is unclear to me after today. I know that she's Lydia, and that she's my single greatest fear because of the history connecting me to her that she doesn't even know exists... or doesn't _remember_ it exists. I know that her mother died—what is it—seven years ago, and that her mother's name was Genesis, though Lydia doesn't know that I know this much. I know that I met her at her mother's funeral, though she was the one who approached me because she saw me watching the burial from a distance. She had just walked up and hugged me. No tears or exchange of words much past our names, just a hug. I know that she has two half-siblings named Shyle and Miho. I know that her best friend is Joy-Cephiene Walker, and that she hangs out with two freshmen who are orphans—just like me—from the boys home across town. I know that she's got a smile bright enough to blind a man from miles away, and I know her life is hell but she endures it like the pain is just barely grazing her skin. To say we're strangers—especially knowing this much—feels like an utter lie.

 _"What if this is your escape?"_ One of the many voices in my head asks. Though it wasn't taunting, it still irritated me. It was still trying to convince me to go against my promise, trying to make me go against every fiber of my being. Or maybe that was purely just me.

_"You know that she could be the one. She could be your only chance. Why would you give up such a chance?"_

_"I'm not giving up anything,"_ I grumble back in my mind.

_"Just watch. You'll continue to hang around her against your better judgement. Then, slowly, one by one, each demon in your head will disappear. She'll set you free of everything that's haunted you. Then you'll be free to be with her the way you know you want to."  
_

_"And what if I don't continue to hang around her?"_

_"You will."_

_"You don't know that."_

_"Yeah, I do. I know your heart as well as you do. How could I not when I am just another you that resides in the back of your mind. You only argue against yourself because you aren't ready to admit anything to yourself."_

_"What the hell does that mean? Not 'ready to admit' anything to myself? She's not a friend, and even if she did mean something to me... it wouldn't be in a romantic way. So, really, there's nothing to admit!"_

_"As far as your telling yourself. I mean, let's face it. You're arguing with yourself here. What do you think that really means? We can't both be wrong. So, either I'm lying because you desperately want to escape this pain enough to try to convince yourself that you want to like her in some way—whether it be friendship or romantic. Or, the way I see more likely, you're lying to yourself about not liking her in_ _any way, because not only would it break your promise but you're afraid to have any emotional tie to her. Though, we already know you're afraid to have an emotional tie to anyone."_

_"Either is plausible," I say, not entirely sure what to think anymore, because lying to myself and discovering the truth later isn't anything new to me._

_"Yes, but what is more probable?"_

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the end of chapter two! I'll try to get the next chapter up soon for those of you who actually enjoy this. Also, thank you to those who have stuck with me this far, and plan on keeping with me till the end.
> 
> Any questions, theories on what will happen, or anything else, please leave a comment.
> 
> ...ily!
> 
> \--Lydia J.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies!
> 
> Okay, so finishing the writing and editing of this chapter took me a lot longer than I thought it would. My inspiration and motivation was constantly flickering, and I also had plenty of other distractions that took me away from my work.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this chapter, but... fair WARNING I think the end is a bit trashy. Sorry to those who find they can agree with me on that. I’ll try and hope for better as the story progresses.

The sun was above the horizon, gleaming on the crystals of white that have fallen in compacted sheets on the ground. It was almost beautiful enough to be a distraction, but those thoughts, those questions still lingered. I hadn't wanted to part ways, but I guess we both knew it would happen. The loneliness began creeping back in as soon as I started down a different road, and I had begun to wonder when it had left me in the first place. I hadn't noticed it was gone until it crept back in, but then it occurred to me that I hadn't felt it's presence at all when he had been with me.

What was it that had blinded me from this most obvious fact? Was it the fear? The fear of witnessing someone being beaten, the fear of hearing bones snap, the fear of him falling unconscious that elicited thoughts like ' _what if his condition is worse than it appears'_ or ' _what if he never wakes up again?'_ It was ridiculous to question whether he would wake up again, because I had interceded before too much harm had been done. I couldn't help it, though. Fear makes me think irrational things, as it probably does for everyone else as well. Though, maybe it wasn't the fear that blinded me. Maybe it was something else entirely, like how he knew exactly what I've been feeling every day since I was five and my life fell into the hands of the king of hell.

_"Will I see you again?"_

The expression I had witnessed made my mind a whirlwind of questions. So many questions, I couldn't pin down the exact one I wanted the answer to first. His eyes were pleading, as if to ask me to not feel hopeful that he would say yes.

_"I don't know. Maybe."_

When he spoke his words were like a lie, cutting deep into my skin but not deep enough to remove the hope. At the same time, he sounded conflicted, like he wanted to answer with the only word I wanted to hear from his lips but also sounding like he honestly didn't know whether he would see me again. All as if he were questioning whether or not to avoid me from here on out.

Maybe hoping is foolish, because he honestly believes that he's not good enough to be my friend or that he can't be around people 'cause he thinks he'll hurt them. That's just the point, though. His heart is good because he's afraid of hurting people, of hurting _me_. People who can say otherwise clearly haven't seen that sliver of the good that truly lies inside him.

I can tell it's not just about me, though. He's siding against himself in an internal battle. Behind his eyes, you can see the storm. He's conflicted about many aspects of his life and who he is and who he probably sees himself becoming. He's seeing it all through the wrong lens, and even the lens he has chosen to look at the world through is cracked and smudged beyond its original distortion. Or, maybe I'm the one looking through the distorted lens. Maybe he sees the truth of his situation, and I am the one who twists it into something better.

Maybe you're the one who romanticizes realty because you still aren't willing to accept it for what it is. I bite my tongue, holding back the tears that were forcing their way up. I could feel it in my heart, how the strings were being plucked at every word that crossed my mind. I've always tried to tell myself that I see things for what they are—my life, this world, people—but maybe I do romanticize it. Maybe I haven't fully accepted the reality of my situation.

As I round the corner, I see Camden is sitting on the porch awaiting my arrival, so I pull on that worn thin façade and put everything under lock and swallow the key. I take in his appearance and frown. He's clad in a grey sweater, black skinny jeans, and his converse. His exposed skin is lit in a light shade of red. The best he has to protect himself from freezing completely is a stocking cap with his head of sandy blond curls just barely peeking out the brim. In his arms he held a blanket, which he threw around me as soon as I was within his reach. His ice blue eyes were glowing just as brightly as the sun on the snow as he smiled down at me.

"I was kinda hoping you would call. I mean, it wouldn't have been too much trouble to just ask me for a ride back home, and the kids would've been fine. They can handle themselves for at least ten minute, or, you know, I could've always brought them with me too. You didn't need to risk getting sick in this weather just to get home. What happens if you get sick, and the kids are left to fend for themselves."

I nearly stopped breathing just at the thought. When I finally found my voice, I said, "Don't even put those kinds of thoughts in my head. You know I can't stand anything having to deal with my baby siblings having to fend for themselves. Besides, I'm fine, and you've already done too much for me. I couldn't possibly bother you for—"

"Don't say that. I can never do too much for ya'. You're a friend. You needed help. What more reason do I need than that?" Camden interjected.

"—And what you're wearing isn't any better than what I've got on. You know, you could've been using the blanket 'til I got home, since you decided you wanted to sit outside a freeze your butt off," I say, hugging the blanket tighter around me as it hit me just how cold it really was.

Camden just chuckles and replies, "Yeah, but I was still a little heated from shoveling the walkway. I needed the cold anyways; one, it eases my nerves and two, your siblings were quite the handful last night. I guess, this was like my short escape."

"Well, why don't we head inside before we start turning blue? 'Cause, I most definitely wasn't planning on becoming a human popsicle today. Or, you can go home. I mean, I've kept you here long enough." As I moved to step around him, he stuck his arm out in front of me to keep me from going any further. I tilted my head as I gazed up at him, confused by his suddenly serious expression.

"Lydia, there's something... something else I better mention before—" He abruptly cut himself off, and I had a feeling I knew what his sudden silence meant, what his reluctance to tell me what he needed to say was about.

"He's—He's hear isn't he." Camden nodded, looking terrified for me. He, of all people, would understand best what this meant to me. He's been around to help me with Shyle and Miho on more than one occasion in which my dad came home drunk. He's usually the one who comes around to help take care of the kids while I'm busy taking care of my father. "And, did he... hurt—"

"No! No, Lyd, he didn't touch anyone. I mean, he was drunk as hell, but he didn't hurt anyone. I just thought you should know that... he's still here, and he was asking for you last night. He came in, I helped him to the couch, and then he started asking where you were. Said he had something he needed to tell you. Though, if I'm being honest, I couldn't tell if he was just too drunk and saying a bunch of random crap, or if he actually meant that he had something important to tell you."

"Yeah, it's always kinda hard to tell with him." My voice sounded choked, like I had something lodged in my throat. Yet, the only thing I felt was the dull ache lodged into my chest.

"I'll stay, if you want me too."

"You don't have to," I reply, but I can tell the look in my eyes in begging him not go anywhere.

"I want to stay." Camden's expression was gentle, like he knew I was on the verge of breaking. Question is, how can you break what's already broken? You can stomp on it till it's nothing more than dust beneath your heel, but I think I've already reached that point. Guess some people are willing to test how much farther beyond dust they can destroy me.

Camden took my hand in his, pulling me closer to his side as if to be ready to catch me if I fell. It was in that moment, taking that first step forward, that I realized I was trembling. Constant but invisible, like a tremor below the surface of my skin. Just there enough to be aware it's in my veins. My chest was heaving against this constricted feeling. My breaths were so shallow that you could barely tell I was breathing. It felt like my eyes were flitting from place to place--or maybe it was my mind--but my eyes were locked on the door. Behind that door, who knows what state I'll find my father in.

I can feel Camden's eyes on me the entire time as my trembling hand just barely grasps the doorknob without immediately drawing back. Everything around me felt like death; ice cold and eerily empty. Yet, the air felt like smoke consuming my lungs, like the suffocation before your burned alive. The faint squeak of the door on its hinges as it opened sounded more like a scream against the wind that already sounded like a faint howling pulling closer and closer. It was like the gentle loneliness of a wolf's howl, but it created a hollow pit in my chest where my heart already felt like a weight. It was dark for just a moment as I stepped inside, and I didn't realize my eyes had instinctively closed until they opened again. That glow I had seen in the world when I was with Bastian was finally growing dim.

_How long till I see you again? How long will my world fade dim?_

_I wonder... Is it the same for you? I wonder... I wonder..._

There he was on the couch, somewhere between a state of life and death, conscious and unconscious. My eyes met his immediately, because I couldn't help but notice I was the first one he looked to as we entered the room. It was in that moment—his gaze fixated on me, never once moving away—that I saw a flicker of blue in his dull, grey eyes, like electricity and life rekindling for just the briefest of moments. Something like hope, maybe stronger, burned in my heart, but I tried to reign it in before it could get very far. It was terrify, realizing how much I hoped my father would make an effort to be the man I need him to be. Realizing how much I miss him, despite having that enraging feeling of never wanting to see him again after all he's done.

"Lyd," he groaned. I almost wanted to cry. He sounded like he was in agonizing pain, and it hurt me just to look at him, to hear him speak.

I watched as he just barely pushed himself up off the couch. He held his arms wide open, as if he expected me to go running into them, but I just barely kept myself from flinching away at the thought. I could see the hurt in his eyes when I didn't move, and he let his arms fall back to his sides. It wasn't till he started falling back trying to walk that I went running to his side.

"Dad!" His eyes were still locked on mine, and for a moment I felt like maybe there was a faint hint of the possibility that I could get him back.

"Lyd—" he said again.

"Shh, daddy, don't talk. We should get you upstairs to lie down." I reply, taking one of his arms and holding it in place around my shoulders while I hook my free arm around his waist. I help him to his feet, but he immediately tried to pull back and sent us both falling back onto the couch.

"N-no..." he protested. "...Ly...have something... need t-to tell you." His words were slightly slurred, but I could tell it was more from drowsiness than the alcohol left lingering in his system. His eyes were pleading as they bore into mine, and I could feel as my façade dissipated to nothing. There was a sudden change in his expression. It was no longer pleading for me to listen. It was begging for forgiveness. It made me wonder just how much of my pain he could see with all my defenses down like this.

I heaved him back onto his feet--thankful he didn't fight me this time--and felt a sudden weight on my shoulders tearing me apart. It wasn't from supporting him as I helped him to the stairs, though. It runs a little deeper than a physical weight upon me.

I was grateful when Camden swooped in to help me move my father when I nearly sent us sprawling on the floor trying to help him up the stairs. To be honest, I had almost forgotten Camden was still here. When my father went falling back the first time, all prior thoughts went out the window. In that moment, everything else was forgotten. It was just me and my father, like it used to be, and, somewhere inside, that five year old girl was being awaken.

When Camden and I settle my father into his bed, and I pull the covers over him, he already appeared as if he'd fallen asleep. Yet, when I turn to leave with Camden—who, I realized, was no longer within sight—my heart leaps at the familiar feeling of a large, gentle hand taking a hold of mine. That warmth that caresses my skin under the gentle pressure of his hand holding mine is exactly the same as I remember it from my childhood.

_How long has it been since you've held my hand, dad? I wonder as I turn to face him. How long has it been since you've done anything that makes me think you might actually care?_

"Ly-Lydia... I'm sorry. I-I put you through hell, haven't I? Oh, God, I... sorry. P-Please, forgive... I'm sorry," my father begged, and I swear he was pretty close to tears.

I held his gaze, uncertain of anything. Looking into his eyes, I felt like I was seeing a reflection of the man I knew. As if I could see how sorry he really felt, how much he really wanted me to forgive him. Yet, I couldn't. Not when I was so uncertain. What if this was all part of his scheme for seeing how much further he could break me? Real question is, though, what would he gain from any of this?

"Go to sleep, daddy," I reply, pulling my hand from his and moving out of his reach. Out of the corner of my eye I see Camden now standing in the doorway, but I keep my gaze focused on my dad. "We can talk when you're really sober."

"Lyd, _please_ , wait! I am sober! Please, we need to talk now!"

I freeze in the doorway, clutching the doorframe for support as I looked back at my father. Sighing, I said, "Dad, I love you, but if you were really sorry then you'd at least be trying to make an effort to stop hurting me like this."

When he didn't respond I looked to Camden, who immediately took me by the hand and pulled me across the hall to my own room. Letting go of my hand, he turned to close the door enough so there was only a small crack between the door and its frame. Then he turned back to me and drew me into his arms, pressing his lips gently to the top of my head.

"Are you okay, kid?" He mumbled into my hair. I nodded in response, because I wasn't sure if my voice would betray me or not.

Camden held me for a while longer, and when he finally let me go I could honestly say I didn't feel that bad. Overwhelmed, because this was the second time in two days that my dad's shown up, but I knew it would only feel worse to worry about it. Besides, something else was already beginning to consume my thoughts. Something I knew would persist. Something that would kill me inside to out until I knew the true answer to the question lingering in the back of my mind.

I moved to curl up on my bed, Camden following after me but only sitting on the edge of the bed. He was searching my face for something, and I could tell he was confused by what he found. His expression turned serious, his tone matching it as he asked, "You wanna talk about it?"

"What?" I asked, genuinely curious as to what he was talking about. Was my façade still down? Were all my other worries finally laid out for the world to see? I quickly looked away, hoping whatever he was seeing wouldn't be there when I looked back.

"C'mon, don't play that game with me, baby girl. You know, there are people in this world who can see through those lies. Micaiah, Jo-Ce, Aura," he choked up on that last name, cursing himself under his breath before he continued, "and _me_. I ain't stupid. You need to start talking. You can't keep everything under lock and key all the damn time. Some day you're gonna snap, and..." he trailed off, and when he didn't continue I peered up at him curiously. I was startled to find that he had tears in his eyes, bottom lip trembling.

"Cam?"

He quickly jumped up from the bed, pacing around from corner to corner of the room, trying to calm himself before he spoke. He finally sighed in defeat, and continued what he started to say, "Dammit, Lydia, _please_ ," he begged, his expression turning more serious and concerned than I had ever seen it. "You... You're like a kid sister to me, and you expect me to just... _How_ can you just expect me to let it go? Every single time, you expect me to just let you lock it away, handle it yourself. It's not fair, Lyd. You can take the weight of everyone else's problems, but they can't help you bear yours? That ain't right. It ain't fair!"

"I know, it's just..."

"I get it. I don't like it, but I get it. You don't like _'being a burden.'_ Yeah, well, screw that. How do you think we feel when we come to you with one of our issues? You don't think we feel like we're burdening you?" He sighed, moving back over to the bed to take a seat. "I shoulda known something was up. I had the feeling something was up when you first got here. I just wasn't sure until now."

_Oh, that's what he sees._

"Look, Cam, I'm gonna be fully honest. It's nothing of importance."

"I don't care. I still want you to talk. You've been letting everything pent up inside since you were five. You haven't had a break since then, Lyd. How can you expect me to ignore that?" Every word came out sounding more and more irritated, frustrated. His red-rimmed eyes held an expectant look when I met his gaze.

"That's not true, Camden. I did have a break, and you know it."

"Yeah, but she doesn't exactly want to be your friend at the moment, does she?" There was an immediate sting, like venom coursing in my veins. It bit and stung, because he was right.

"Ah, Ly, I'm sorry. I didn't... mean to—"

"Naw, it's alright. I mean, you're right. I'll never understand why, but you're right. God, what did I ever do wrong?" I could feel the sting in the corners of my eyes, but no tears fall. Good, I was sick of crying anyways.

"You didn't do anything, Lyd. That girl probably just has her own issues to work through.—"

"Issues she couldn't come to me with," I interjected, because just the idea of her having a problem she couldn't tell me about sounded far fetched. "Cam, she was my best friend. Urei and I went to each other for just about everything. She was like my sister. Out of everyone in this world, she was the first I was able to fully trust after all that had happened."

"Is that why you can't open up to any of us about what's tearing you apart?"

"I don't know."

"You know, you have friends for a reason. We're not just around for the good times you know. We're here for the bad and in between times as well. So talk. What's eating at you right now? Besides the whole situation with your dad." I sigh, but comply with his demand.

"You remember what I told you when I called you last night."

"Yeah, you told me you were helping some boy from school who was hurt, and that you wanted to stay at the hospital until you were sure that he was alright. Then the blizzard started, I called and offered to come get you, but you said you still didn't know how bad his condition was so you would just stay." It took him a brief moment to make the connection in his brain, and all prior confusion to my mention of last night washed away. "Did that boy say something to you? _Do_ something to you?" He immediately looked sickened by the thought that something could've happened between when I called last night and before he saw me on my way home. He almost looked ready to go murder someone.

"What?" Now it was my turn to be confused, and, to be honest, horrified. Of all conclusions to come to, why would he come to the one that could have the most horrific implications? "No! Camden, he didn't do anything to me."

"Oh." That was all he said, but just that single word held the utmost relief. I could visibly see him relax, every muscle from head to toe melting away a tension I hadn't noticed. He no longer looked sickened, just confused.

"Have you ever been able to tell that someone has a good heart before you even really knew them? Then you get a chance to talk to that person, and you see that they are good. Yet, they don't believe it because the world makes them believe that they're not."

"Yeah, I believe I have." I could hear the hidden meaning behind his words, and understood just what he meant. If you listened close enough, you could hear the air of forlornness to his tone, but, without the prior knowledge of his situation, one might mistake it for a heavy tone of exhaustion. Though, if it hadn't been for the blood red, agonizing honesty bleeding from his eyes, I would've fallen for the same charade I've been pulling the past eleven years.

_So, I'm not the only one who likes to play pretend. Sure, you come to me with issues, but just how much aren't you coming to me with? Just how much is it really killing you? How much hypocrisy should I be accusing you of?_

I smile but I can feel how heavy the sadness in it is, like fighting the seemingly natural instinct to frown. My gaze rests on the ceiling as I lean back against the headboard.

"He doesn't believe. I can see that he's good, but he doesn't believe," my voice is barely a whisper, like a single breath lost in the howling wind. When Camden doesn't respond I'm almost convinced he didn't hear me, or maybe he simply doesn't know how to respond.

"Who is this boy to you, Lydia? Why does he matter so much to you? And, don't try to say he doesn't really matter, because he clearly does. There's no lying your way out of this, so just give me the truth." Camden says after a long moment of silence. I could hear in his tone that he was becoming the overprotective older brother that he usually tried to suppress.

"I don't know. He's no more than a stranger, I guess, but... I can't help the feeling that I know him from somewhere." _From some distant memory that I've lost touch with._ "...and... there's something about him that's... it's like everything I've ever been through, every bad feeling I've ever felt, he understands it exactly as I do. He makes me feel like I'm not the only one who understands the kinds of pain this world has put me through."

"But," Camden prompted, knowing there was more behind what I was saying, or else I wouldn't be feeling the way I do.

"But, he doesn't think he's someone I should associate with. He's been accused of some pretty awful things, and there are people who give him hell for it. At least, they use it as an excuse to give him hell. Then there's the fact that he's terrified he's gonna hurt me, but that's just it. That's why he's good. That's why he's ruining his life further, until he has no more life to ruin. It's because he cares enough to worry about hurting people. I wish he could just see it the way I do, that there was a way to convince him that being friends wouldn't be a bad thing."

"How is it a stranger can help you in ways your friends can't? What is it he can give you that we can't?" I could tell by Camden's tone that he was slightly hurt, and my heart immediately clenched in my chest. I wanted to look him in the eyes, and give him something to make him feel like he's not as useless as a friend as he believes he is... but I couldn't. There was nothing I could say or do to make him feel better, because there was no explanation to give. I can't explain why a stranger can be the healing factor in my life, and my friends can just barely help to mend the surface.

 _'God, if I could ask for one thing,'_ my mind echos my prayer from yesterday. _But he can't be. God's never answered my prayers before. Why would he do it now?_

_'I don't need someone great, fantastic, or even perfect. I just want someone good. Just one... only one... only good.' That's what he is, isn't he? Isn't that what you called him? Good?_

My heart stuttered in my chest. It's true. I did call him good. I sigh, choking back the sudden fear and shoving aside my rush of thoughts just long enough to answer Camden's questions.

"Cam, you have to understand that not everyone can help me, because not everyone understands what I've been through, what I'm still going through. I guess, it's just that... when I was with Bastian I didn't feel any of it. None of the pain. None of the loneliness. None of it. Something about him chases it all away, like he's that guardian angel I've waited for God to send me."

_But he can't be what I've been asking for. It just doesn't make sense. Why would years of unanswered prayers lead me to this? Why would years of suffering lead me this one boy?_

When I was finally able to meet his gaze, I couldn't read the emotion behind the shield of blue ice. He didn't appear to angry or sad, but he didn't exactly seem happy. It was like a million different emotions all at once, all bleeding together to make it impossible to read.

"So," Camden started to say, "in a way, he completes you."

"I don't know, Cam. All I know is that he mends the holes that have been tearing deeper into my skin. With him, I don't feel like I'm alone. I feel like I can finally heal right, like my wounds can mend with barely visible scars."

For once in my life, I may not have to suffer. I may not have to agonize over a million different things all at once. For once, I could finally be free. I just need to make Bastian realize that he's a better person than he believes. I just need him to realize that there are people in this world who care. And maybe I care too easily for people, strangers even, but maybe that's a good thing. I just need him to realize that I care about _him_ , and not the image people make him in. The more the world convinces him he's not good, the more he's gonna believe it. But nothing ever really changes about the inside. His heart is still the same. Though, maybe that's his problem. He'll let the world believe what they want to, and he'll let the world convince him he's bad. His problem is that he's allowing himself to be oblivious to the good that actually lies inside him. Though, maybe the reason he's oblivious lies a little deeper than the world believing he's anything less than he truly is.

_How deep does it run, Bastian? Why don't you want to believe you're good?_

My eyes drift shut, encasing me in darkness. For a minute, my thoughts were lost. My mind was given a moment of freedom. My soul eased into a weightless drift on the settling waves of emotions. It was the simplicity of a serenity I may never know again. Though, where it came from is impossible to say.

_"...dia... Ly... ia—"_

_Hmm, that's funny. I swear I can hear someone saying my name, but, then again, I could be wrong._

_"...Lydia..."_

_There it is again._

_Gosh, why am I so tired all of a sudden. I feel like my brain just rapidly deteriorated to just about nothing. Maybe it did. Maybe this is the kind of peace I've been longing for. Maybe God's finally answering my prayers._

_...maybe..._

_...just maybe..._

_I'm falling..._

_...Deeper..._

_...Deeper..._

_...Deeper...  
....Gone._

_...It was darkness... silence... and then light. Everything was bright, white, and blinding, like how some people would say they could see a bright light when they faced death so near to the actual thing. Is this death? Or, is this simply a mirror of what it feels like? Whatever the answer, this isn't my light. It's not the same glow that casts out the darkness that's slowly eradicating all the good left to my existence, to my world. It's not the same shield that surrounded and protected me. It's not the warmth and comfort that mends me without my noticing. It's simply bright and cold and lonely. Cold as death should be, and lonely as hell. What are the odds? Even in death I am left with a painful existence._

_There it is again. Even in this world of death and light, everything must fade. Around me, the world is still cold, though a yellow glow now warms the earth from above. The sun? Can't be. The world feels too dark for that. But, then again, where else could that glow be coming from?_

_I look to where the sky should be held above my head, and sure enough it's there. The orb of yellow that casts light and warmth into the day of the world was resting peacefully against a sheet of blue. A blue in a shade that can only be a reminder of a child's innocence, but today feels as if the innocence has been stolen from them. Now they lay witness to the harsh truth of the world. Much to soon was it stolen away, but much too late to turn back and deceive them with outlandish illusions and false securities._

_I recognize this day, this feeling of lost innocence. It's been repressed for many years, but it was always nagging at my mind as a reminder of its existence. I guess it was bound to resurface eventually. The question is, who held the key to unlocking it? I've held this under lock and threw away the key as a way to keep me up and able to help every other grieving soul. Who did the key fall into the hands of? The answer to that question seemed entirely insignificant. Yet it loomed in the shadows where it could hold me hostage in the vague but constant reminder that its importance wasn't to be determined by me._

_A chill electrifies my nerves, working from my very core outwards. It's the same chilling feeling one might get from suspecting that someone is watching them. Though it's usually a simple case of paranoia for most, it wasn't entirely the case for me. Just as I was turning to find my way out of this place I was frozen dead in my tracks. There standing next to me was a little girl. An eerie glow radiated from her seemingly transparent form._

_"U-um, hello," I stuttered out. When she didn't respond I questioned if she could even hear me, and looking at her in this moment it registered in my brain that I knew her. From where, I couldn't say?_

_When the girl finally peered up at me through thick eyelashes, I was struck with the realization of who she was. With her large, hazel eyes, and slightly more rounded face that was framed by waist length, dark chestnut brown hair... it was obvious. She was me. Ten year old version, but still me. Judging by the dark grey dress she was wearing, I know exactly what day it is as well. That's why this feeling is so familiar. This is the day of my mother's funeral._

_Without a word the younger version of myself took me by the hand and led me off in the direction of my mother's grave. By this time in my life, I knew the way very well. I've come to this exact place at least once every year since the funeral. There it was, exactly as I remember it, only the ground was torn open. My mother's casket lay open to the world once again._

_We froze just short of the edge of the pit that my mother lay to rest in before she finally asked, "You don't remember, do you?"_

_"Remember what?"_

_"This is where you met. Though, I guess I couldn't blame you for forgetting."_

_My only response was silence. Who could I possibly have met on this day? I can't even remember much more than the whirlwind of questions and emotions. My mind was clouded by a storm. Though, my heart probably suffered worse. How am I supposed to remember the face of a stranger?_

_I was startled when the younger version of myself pulled me down to my knees so we could see eye to eye. She placed her hands on either side of my head, as if she were trying to transmit her thoughts to me. Her eyes swam with sadness, like it was a great burden for me to lack the memory she wants me to remember._

_"You must remember." The sense of urgency in her voice was startling._

_"If it's so important, why can't you just tell me?" I asked. It seemed like such an obvious solution._

_"No!" She protested, shaking her head to further express refusal to give me the answer.  
"You must remember."_

_"How am I supposed to remember?"_

_She simply smiled and said, "Face up to what you've locked away. Allow yourself to feel what you didn't allow yourself to feel back then."_

_"I don't know what I felt back then. I locked it all away. You locked it all away. Please, there has to be something you can do to help me."_

_One of her little hands shifted from my head to right over where my heart would be resting in my chest. "Remember," she said, and in the sudden flash of light—like a piece of the sun falling directly on us—she disappeared._

_"Wait!" I exclaimed, and I was startled to realize that it wasn't me I heard. Well, it was me, but it wasn't. I was still me, in a way, but not the me I was when I first came here. When I looked down at my hands they were small, like her hands. My eyes were the same, only bigger, more suiting a child. My face was younger, rounder._

_"Remember?" It was in my voice that it was said, but it wasn't me who said it. "What did you feel that day?"_

_"I don't know," I replied, but I didn't know who it was I was answering. "I remember mostly feeling... numb, I guess. I wasn't the best at locking away emotions, yet. I was trying though, because I didn't want to break when there were so many around me who were already broken."_

_"And, what did you see that day?"_

_I immediately looked behind me in the direction of the empty field. The only section of land that has yet to be touched by the dead. No one would think to look that far for visitor to the cemetery. Yet, all the same, there stood that vaguely familiar figure._

_"That day... I saw them in the field. They just stood, watching. I knew they were here to see my mother's burial, but they didn't want to be seen by anyone else. Why didn't you want to be seen?"_

_I started off in the direction of the mysterious figure, curiosity overriding everything else. Only, the closer I got the farther away I appeared to be. I never got to see them—to see their face or any feature that might be familiar—before this world started to fade. Guess that exemplifies what life's really like for me._

_There was no light this time around. The world faded and fell to darkness. All around me was silence, but to call it silence doesn't make sense at all. If silence is the utter absence of sound, then why is it so loud, so deafening? Yet, there was no other name for it. Silence was the only name befitting it._

_A hand slipped into mine, interlacing our fingers. In this darkness, it could be any assortment of monsters that was clinging tightly to me. The only thing that kept me from screaming was the hand that clasped over my mouth, and the voice that followed._

_"Shh," a soothing voice said, hot breath ghosting over my skin. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'll let you go as long as you don't scream. Can you do that for me?"_

_I quickly nodded, still a little scared for my life, though I know I recognize that voice. It's not quite as familiar as any of my friends voices, but it's not one so unfamiliar that I know for certain I'm putting my life into the hands of a complete stranger._

_The hand drew away cautiously, as if worried I was still on the verge of screaming. Then the voice said, "Guess you wouldn't know who I am yet. Not entirely, I suppose. I mean, we're no closer than strangers."_

_"Wait... Bastian?"_

_He just laughed. "Hmm, quicker than I thought you'd be. I'll have to keep an eye on you."_

_"W-What are you doing here? Where are we?"_

_"You tell me," Bastian said, and I could just imagine that he'd be shrugging as he said it. "You've gotta have it figured out by now that this is all in your head."_

_So that's why she couldn't tell me who I met. If I didn't know then she obviously couldn't have known. She's simply the part of me that knows how to help me remember. That also has to mean that I'm the one who wants me to remember who I met. It doesn't make sense, though. Why do I find it so important to remember now?_

_"Walk with me, Lydia," Bastian said, interrupting my thoughts. Without waiting for a response, he led me further into the darkness._

_With a low chuckle he asked, "Or, am I leading you closer to the light? And to answer your next question, yes. I can here what you're thinking. Just one of the perks and downfalls to being inside your head." Though I couldn't see it, I could practically hear the smirk on this face, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to smack him or laugh. When he laughed I knew he was listening again, and I decided I'd rather smack him._

_"Do your worst," he taunted, and I could hear the smile in his voice._

_"How about you just stop listening to my thoughts?"_

_"Not my choice. If I hear them it's either because you want me to or you just don't know how to block me out. Though, I think I like the sounds of the former."_

_Bastian suddenly stopped, catching me in his arms as I almost fell running into him. The smirk was evident in his voice as he said, "Careful now, princess."_

_"Why in the world did we stop?"_

_"It's time for you to wake up."_

_"What?" Before I could say anymore he was gone._

I awoke to a dark room and a night sky outside my window. Buried under this heap of covers you'd think I'd be warm, but I was shivering. It felt as if all of winters coldest moments had gathered under the surface of my skin. Though I could feel the heat of the blankets surrounding me, no warmth could touch me from within.

_How long have I been asleep?_

Despite feeling like I was gonna fall down just from sitting up, I managed to drag myself out of bed. I hugged my blankets tight around me like a cocoon as I stumbled towards the door. The world around felt dizzy, like it was constantly spinning. Or, was that just me? Miraculously, I managed to get all the way downstairs and too the kitchen before I had to lean against the wall for support. It felt as if the ground was quaking beneath my feet. Though, it could've just been me quaking.

"Oh, Lydia!"

_Camden? Oh, no, I completely forgot he was here. Did he spend his entire day here taking care of my kid siblings because I had to go and fall asleep?_

"I—Camden, I-I didn't—" I tried to say, but I couldn't quite get my mind and mouth to work right together to get the words out. Camden just wrapped his arm around my waist and helped me over to the table to sit.

"Just rest, Lydia. I told you that you shouldn't have risked your health walking home. I kinda figured you weren't well when you fell asleep on me this morning." I could hear his joking tone, but I couldn't find it in me find anything about this funny.

Camden ran over to the stove where I now realized there were what must be left overs from supper. He filled a plate with what looked like rice, eggs, and a bit of salsa, and set it down in front of me.

"Don't worry, kid. I think the worst of it is just a fever. You should, hopefully, be over it by the end of the weekend, as long as you don't push yourself taking care of the little kiddos. Now eat, you need it."

When I was done eating I took my plate over to the sink to wash it only to have Camden shoo me off to bed. To be honest, I was kinda thankful he did. Even the simple task of washing a plate seemed exhausting to me at the moment.

"Hey, Lyd, I'm gonna head out when I'm done cleaning up," he said just as I was turning to go back upstairs.

"Okay," I replied.

"I'll be back tomorrow to check in on you."

"You don't have to." I really meant, _"Please don't! I didn't even mean to steal this much of your weekend."_

He just smiled and said, "I know, but I want to. And... maybe when you're feeling better, we can get the gang together sometime."

"Including Aura?" I asked through a yawn. When he didn't respond, I said, "I know that you guys aren't exactly close at the moment and I understand why, but I also know how you feel about her. You need to make things right, Camden. You shouldn't long for someone if you aren't willing to fix your mistakes to make things right with them."

As I left the room I swear I heard him say, "I know." But with how well my brains been performing tonight, it could've all been my imagination.

**  
*****

  
By the time I woke up on Monday, my fever was gone and I was well enough to carry on with life. Though, most of my first day back at school after a long weekend was like being slapped in the face by reality. It was like realizing the most obvious thing after having been oblivious for so long. Bastian has always been there in the background of my life, but I never bothered to notice. Though, I've recently noticed that his locker is just down the hall a little ways from mine, and that he usually passes me by in the hall before first and third period.

_How long has he been this close?_

I've also noticed that he's always alone, and I couldn't help but wonder how many people just refuse to be his friend because of rumors. How many friends has he lost to those rumors? How many people has he distanced from because they wanted to know him, but he didn't want to hurt them?

_I wonder if it was the same for him. How invisible was I to him, or... am I still invisible? Was I ever invisible? Has it been that I've never noticed him, but he's noticed me?_

He ignored me all week. I greeted him every time I passed him by. No answer. I approached him in the morning before first hour, and he walked away. I'd like to think he just simply didn't notice me, but knowing how much he thinks interaction between us wouldn't be a good thing... I know he's simply been ignoring me.

It wasn't until after school on Friday that I got my chance to talk to him again. I had just been about to leave when I saw him, and in that same moment that I noticed him, he disappeared. I was about to just leave, but before I even knew what I was doing I was slipping inside the same room he had disappeared into. Yet, he was nowhere to be found. That's when I noticed what room I was in. It was the choir room, but it didn't make any sense. Bastian wasn't in choir. Or, was that one of the many things I still haven't noticed yet?

With a sigh, I head back to the practice rooms, and sure enough he was there. The muffled sounds of a piano were emanating from inside the room where I had performed my song for Micaiah not more than a week ago. As I reached out to open that door I realized just how nervous I really was. You could see my hands trembling. It wasn't like those tremors just beneath the surface of my skin. This was actual fear and anxiety.

_Please, don't walk away. Don't treat me like I'm invisible. Not again._

Before I could change my mind, I quietly slipped into the room. There Bastian sat, fingers gracing up and down the keyboard in a way so perfect that I couldn't even come close to comparing to it. He was so absorbed in the song that he didn't even notice I was here. I guess that's where we can compare. The music absorbs our attention absolutely. By the time his song was done, I was startled to find tears rolling down my cheeks, and much more so when I realized he was crying as well.

"That was beautiful," I finally managed to say. It wasn't enough to describe it, but since when have words ever been enough to describe the beautiful.

"H-How long have you been there?" He sounded mortified, like he'd been caught in committing some great atrocity.

I came around to sit next to him on the piano bench. I allowed my fingers to grace up and down the keys once before I replied, "Long enough." I paused, giving him a chance to say something, but when he didn't I continued, "So, what was that song th-that you were playing?"

He seemed reluctant to respond, but still he said, "A song I wrote for my brother. He, um... he..."

"You don't have to say it. I understand. I lost my brother as well, though I never really got to know him. He died in war when I was just a year old. But my sister, Lyra, she always told me the greatest stories of him. That's all they are, though. Stories."

"How do you know? What if they were all true?"

"Even true stories can be romanticized," I said with a sad smile. "So, have you just been ignoring me these past few days, or am I really that invisible?"

"I just haven't really noticed you around much."

"Liar." His eyes went wide at the accusation, but I had already known the truth. "I know you were ignoring me. I guess, I just wanted to see if you were an honest man."

"I'm sorry." A blush crept onto his cheeks and he quickly ducked his head. For a moment, he looked just like a child, ashamed for being caught in a lie. I couldn't help the laugh that this sight drew out of me. When I went silent again he said, "You know, I could be."

"What?" I ask.

"An honest man." He finally met my gaze, and shame was still clear in his eyes.

"I don't doubt it." Silence fell between us, once again, but there was something comfortable about it this time. Though, maybe it only felt that way to me.

"You should go," Bastian finally said to break the silence.

"Why?" I shot back, and I could tell I wasn't the only one surprised by the harshness to my tone.

"You know why." He fired back.

"No, actually, I don't! So tell me, Bastian. 'Cause all I know are the petty excuses you've given me, and that will never be enough to keep me away!"

"Why do you even give a fuck? You don't even know me!"

"Why can't you accept the fact that I think you're a good person?"

"Because I know that's not what I am." He sounded resigned to the thought that he simply wasn't good, and it only infuriated me even further.

"Bastian, if you weren't a good person then you wouldn't be pushing people away because you're afraid of hurting them. Only an idiot can't see that you're good."

"Then I guess the world's an idiot."

"Yeah, I guess it is." Without really thinking about what I was doing, I suddenly found myself pulling him into an embrace. Even stranger was the fact that he didn't completely reject it.

"I'm not giving up on you, so sooner or later you better just accept the fact that I actually wanna be in your life."

"Why?" He questioned again, and this time I actually answered.

"I don't know. But with you, I just know that I'm not entirely broken. With you, I can finally feel like everything's gonna be alright."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol. Okay, I hope you enjoyed it. Hopefully the next chapter won’t take forever to get posted, but I can’t make any promises.
> 
> Any questions, theories on what will happen, or anything else... please, leave a comment.
> 
> ...ily!
> 
> —Lydia J.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my Lovelies!
> 
> I am so terribly sorry to those of you who have been waiting for an update. I know it’s been 2 1/2 almost 3 months since I updated. My inspiration was on and off, and I’ve had inspiration for a fan fic. Plus, now I’ve got a job and school to be focused on as well. I didn’t mean for it to take this long to update.
> 
> I just wanna thank those of you who have actually stuck with me this far, and I’m sorry I can’t get more updates to you quicker. I swear I actually do try to get them done before a month or more has passed, but my inspiration and motivation is a bit faulty. Though, I do wanna say thank you to Isada and the two guests who have left kudos on this work so far. You guys have definitely been my biggest motivation to keep working on this story, even when I get distracted by other things.
> 
> I’m actually quite proud of myself and the work I’ve put into this story. This is the most I’ve ever written without moving on to something completely new. I usually write a chapter or two, get an idea for a new more intriguing story, and ditch the one I was working on for my new idea. I’m proud that I’ve stuck with this story this far. Hopefully I can actually get through this and have this be my first ever completely finished work.
> 
> Lol. I wonder how many words this story will have by the end. I mean, it’s already at 32,000-ish words with just four chapters, and we’re just barely scratching the surface of devilish ideas I have in store for this beautiful work.
> 
> One more thing, thanks to all who have at least checked out my story. I doubt you’ll even see this, but (lol) I don’t really care. Thanks anyway.
> 
> Well, loves, hope you enjoy this chapter. Hope it isn’t too trashy. I personally really enjoy this one, because my beautiful boy Bastian. Anyways, I’ll try to have another update soon. Not making any promises though.
> 
> ...ily!
> 
> —Lydia J.

I had wanted nothing more than to wrap my arms around her when she pulled me in for a hug. I wanted to cling to her, to pull her close and never let go, because something in my life was finally feeling right. Something to do with her... being here... for the soul purpose of trying to make me accept the fact that she  _ wants _ to be in my life. She actually wants to be my friend for some odd, fucked up reason. Yet, I couldn't quite find it in myself to let go of my insecurities and hug her back. My arms just hung limply at my sides, as useless as I feel on a daily basis. Then again, maybe I couldn't find strength to move because I was stunned by the fact that my presence does the same thing for her that her presence does for me. Nothing feels wrong when she's around, but maybe that's the main reason I reject her. Other than the promise that still lies before me, and the all consuming fear of breaking it, of breaking _ her... _ I reject her simply because she makes me feel right. I've felt so wrong, so mangled up inside since the day my life started falling into a living hell that feeling right... I don't believe that I deserve that feeling. I hoist the blame for a lot of things up onto my shoulders, and I just don't know how to accept the feeling of being healed anymore.

The look in Lydia's eyes when she pulled away from the embrace—if you could even really call it that—made my heart clench, like someone had forced their way into my chest and was squeezing my heart in their fist. Her eyes were shining with an unnerving sadness and shame. A kind of look that makes your heart bleed out even if it's not you that's in a state of emotional pain or struggle.

"It sounds selfish, doesn't it? Wanting to be around you because you make me feel... secure. I mean, it's not like that's my only reason. I know you don't exactly see eye to eye with me on the subject, but I honestly do believe you are a good person. You have that same kind of goodness that I see in all my other friends.”

I was about to argue against her, but she quickly shut me up by placing her hand over my mouth. A faint blush coloured her cheeks as she watched the surprise cross my face, and she breathed out a nervous laugh. I had to close my eyes and hold my breath to keep from blushing myself, because— _ shit! Why the hell does she have to look so cute when she's nervous? _

Lydia quickly drew her hand back and stammered, "S-Sorry. Just, pl-please, don't argue with me. I've already told you that nothing will make me see things any differently. So, stop trying to convince me to see you the way the rest of the world sees you, be-because that's not how I will ever see you. I see you through my eyes, not the world’s eyes. So you better get used to it." She had clearly misread my reaction for frustration that she wouldn't let me talk, but I guess I'd rather have her believe that than know the truth behind it.

"You really aren't gonna quit bugging me with this, are you?" I asked in utter disbelief. Though, it probably shouldn't have really been so hard to believe that she'd be so stubborn.

"Never," hazel eyes replied with a small shake of her head.

"You're impossible." Though my tone didn't exactly match the action, I couldn't help the smile that graced my lips.

"Guess you'll just have to learn to get used to it." She had a smirk on her face, a subtle playfulness to her tone. The look on her face was just begging me to relax and be drawn in by the calming atmosphere. Her tone was daring me to make some cocky remark. Something that could easily have us falling into a fit of laughter. Funny thing is, I don't think she even realizes what she's doing—that she's trying to drag me into some trap—and I still can't help but fall for it anyways.

I was about to make some cocky remark, but was stopped short as a ringing drew away Lydia's attention. She held up a finger to ask for a minute as she quickly fished her phone out of her backpack, and I mentally cursed whoever it was that was interrupting this moment. I just barely caught the name on the caller ID— _ "Micaiah" _ —before she answered. There was an immediate venom burning in the pit of my stomach; scorching all my insides and turning all good feeling to nothing more than ashes in my veins.

_ Which one of her friends is that? _ I had to fight back the growl that was clawing its way up my throat as the question reeled over and over in my mind.

"Hello..." Lydia spoke into the phone, the venom biting harder with every word. "Oh, thank you... well, let's just say I kinda got caught up in a moment." She cast a quick glance my direction before turning her attention back to the conversation. "...You don't have to do that... thanks, Micaiah! I owe you one... Hey, give my love to Liam... Don't lie to me! You and Liam are always together. No one could separate you two to save the world... Whatever. Well, if you can hear me, Liam, I love you! Love you, too, Micaiah... Yeah, talk to ya' later... bye.”

Venom turned to hate simmering away in the hollow pit that now replaced my stomach, but I tried to play it off like I wasn't affected in any way. I kept my expression vacant, evading all emotions that were eating away at me from the inside-out. This was her life, her friends, her love to give away. Though, in all honesty, my insides were writhing.

Who does he think he is, to steal away my time with Lydia? What has he done to deserve this girls love?

_ "I thought you didn't care, Bastian." _ One of the voices from the back of my mind teased.

_ 'I never said I did!'  _ I shot back.

_ "If you didn't care, why would you have any reason to be jealous that some other boy has her affection?” _

_ "I am not jealous!" _ I argued, despite feeling an embarrassed blush rise on my cheeks. Arguing didn't make a difference. The voice simply carried on like I wasn't even there.

_ "It's funny,"  _ the voice said, though it was lacking amusement,  _ "You let the anger and jealousy boil inside, wondering what this boy has done to deserve her love. Well, answer me this... what have you done to deserve her love? 'Cause, think about it, she wouldn't be here if she didn't care. So, what have you done to deserve it, Bastian?” _

I couldn't answer. I didn't know how to answer. The voice seemed satisfied with my silence and said, _ "Exactly! You don't even know. Wanna know why you don't know? It's because you. Have. Done. Nothing! Her love is unconditional. It's there without reason, and it scares you to death because you don't know how to deal with it. You don't know how to deal with love at all, do you?” _

_ ‘No.' _

_ "No? No, you don't know how to deal with love? No, her love doesn't terrify you? _

_ "Admit it! Love terrifies you, so you try to push it all away. You have plenty of love to give away, but you can't accept the love others try to give. You can't be friends with this girl, Bastian—“ _

_ "Why?" _ I interject, hate turning more pointedly towards the inner voice that I was arguing with rather than on the boy that Lydia was just on the phone with.

_ "Let me finish... you can't be friends with this girl, you can't care about her, and deny her the right to care about you in return. But that's exactly what you're gonna do, and once her love finally creeps inside—into your veins—you're gonna run. The thing is, though, once that love is there it is never gonna leave. You're an idiot, Bastian, but I guess there's nothing I can really do or say to stop you.” _

My heart beat to an irritatingly slow rhythm, head a swirl of fog and incoherent thoughts. The only thing I could make out was the sound of the piano; not a song, just the simple rise and fall of notes as fingers work their way up and down the keys. Over and over, the same sound, like the constant back and forth of varying pains that roam inside me.

There was a cold sensation seeping inside me, like I was being frozen on the inside while the rest of me looked fine. My hands trembled as they reach out, seeking some sort of warmth and comfort to save me from this feeling. It was like fear, but I've known fear all my life and nothing ever felt quite as terrifying as this.  No, it's not fear. It's the truth, the honest to God truth that I wasn't, and still am not, ready to admit.

That damn voice is right though. I'll befriend her, I'll give her all the love I can, I'll reject her love but once it finds a way through my defenses... I'll run. Then I'll have to live the rest of my life trying not to question how many times I hurt her in the process. I've already hurt her enough as it is.

_ 'Lydia.' _ I breathed a shaky breath, not realizing I said her name aloud until she responded.

"Hmm?" She hummed.

When I didn't answer her questioning hazel eyes came to meet my startled gaze. Have I been staring at her the entire time? I closed my eyes, not wanting to hold her gaze any longer but not able to decide where else to focus my gaze. I can feel it. The truth lies behind my eyes and I can't let her see it. I can't lose this, whatever this is, as much as I'd try to convince myself I don't want this.

My heart jumped at the feeling of her fingers brushing against my hand, like she wanted to hold it, before she decided against it and drew her hand back. Something inside me craves that feel, longs to know it, desires to hold her hand in mine, to hold her in my arms and protect her with all I have. She just looks too innocent to have knowledge of such pain, and I fear I'm the one who put her deeper into the situation where she no longer holds that innocence. Yet, the stronger part of me, or the part that is ruled by fear, wants to reject it, to reject her to keep her far from the horrors that lie inside and behind me. The horrors that haunt my dreams, and bring me to the point where I can hardly even call them dreams anymore. The horrors that haunt my every waking moment.

Lydia remained silent despite the many questions that are probably running through her mind. With a trembling breath, I reached out to her, resting my hand next to hers between us on the piano bench and only finding courage enough to hook our pinkies together. Even that simple touch sent a burst of electricity through my veins, and the feeling put my nerves on edge.

I finally opened my eyes, and cautiously cast a glance her way. She was looking down between us where our hands lay, pinkies hooked together. There was a small smile on her lips and a faint blush on her cheeks, and I couldn't help the swell of happiness inside me. Though, it slowly died out as she looked to me with worry written in her face, and some indescribable emotion in her eyes.

"Are you alright?" She asked, and there was something about the way she asked it that both made me want to give her nothing but my full honesty, and made me want to cower into the darkest corner of my mind and lock away the truth in hopes that whatever answer she's given won't be discovered as a lie.

_ "Are you alright? A-and, don't just say that you are, because I know what that really means. I know, well enough, when people are lying about being alright…" _

It's what she said back at the hospital. The question is, does she really know? Or, was she lying about that? I don't know if that's something I'm entirely willing to put up to the test.

"Bastian?" She questioned, and I knew that I couldn't lie. Not with that look in her eyes. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to the truth, so I gave her as close to the truth as I could.

"I'll be fine," I replied, a small smile on my face. She looked as if she didn't fully believe me, maybe she could read something in my eyes that I wasn't aware was there, but she didn't try to pry for answers. I was thankful for that, because I don't think I even fully know what's wrong. I don't think I could give her a fully honest response no matter what my answer was.

"We can leave if you want," Lydia offered, probably not knowing what else to do. "If it'll help clear your mind… or I can leave. I-if that would help." My heart was running rampant in my chest as she moved to leave. My mind caught in a sudden whirlwind.

_ 'Let her go, Bastian. You know you don't deserve her.’ _

"No!" I exclaimed, taking a tight hold on her wrist before she could get very far. Though, I couldn't tell if I was yelling at the voice in my mind or her... or maybe it was both because I seem desperate for her company. The only company that seems to want me around. I loosened my grip on her wrist as she turned back to me with a shock and confusion written on her face. Almost as if she could tell that my sudden outburst wasn't just meant for her.

"I-" that was all I got out before I choked up. What do I say? A little bit ago I had been arguing that I wasn't good to be around, and all of a sudden I was yelling— _ no!— _ in her face as she tries to leave.

"Don't leave." I was practically begging, my voice barely even a whisper, but I assumed she could hear it anyways because she moved to retake her place next to me on the bench. "I-I don't want you to go.”

There was a moment of silence before she finally said, "I understand that you may not want to open up to me about whatever it is your going through, but I need you to give me something to work with. What can I do? I won't leave, but I need to know what else there is that I can do to help. I don't like knowing I'm sitting here doing nothing when your sitting right beside me struggling.”

"Play me a song?" I found myself saying, though it came out sounding more like a question. Music has always been my escape. It's something I can fall back on when I need a moment to forget the world around, to forget the judgement that I face. When my emotions get to be too much. Music can take it all away, like all those emotions are slipping out through my fingertips with every key I press.

The look I found on Lydia's face was one of understanding, as if she could read my every thought and understood what music meant to me. Maybe she does understand what it means to me, 'cause maybe it means the same to her. Her eyes were shining with a look of fond. Her lips were curled into the smallest of smiles, but even that small smile radiated immense happiness. My heart’s rhythm stuttered as I caught the faint hints of a blush rising on her cheeks, and I couldn't deny the strange sense of pride that swelled in my chest at the thought that I was the reason for that blush. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to be the only one who could make her blush like that.

Lydia nodded, whispering a quiet, "Okay," as she set her fingers into position over the piano keys. Purely from memory, her fingers danced along the piano keys. Each note was drowning in the raw emotions that flowed out from the tips of her fingers. The notes were the perfect blend of beauty and pain, like something that can't be described with mere words because words are not sufficient enough. She played with such skill that it put all my talent on this fine instrument to shame. Not a single note ever sounded out of place. It was simply perfection.

Her eyes fluttered close, like having to see and face the world right now was too much to handle. Her eyebrows were furrowed in concentration, but if that concentration was focused on the keys or her emotions, I couldn't say. Her lips were slightly parted, like she feared she wouldn't be able to breath if she held them closed. You could see the faint tremble in her hands, but there was nothing unsteady about the way she was playing. If anything, she seemed more steady than she is when she's faced with reality. She seemed to be more at ease, and I couldn't say I blamed her.

The piano is an escape. Just like how others use books as an escape. We all need a break from reality every once in a while. We all need an escape from the judgement we fear yet so freely offer, and I suppose Lydia and I just found that music was ours.

I found myself watching Lydia. Watching the way her facial features would tense and relax as one emotion overlapped another on an ever constant loop. A back and forth that was like ocean waves leaving the shore only to be drawn back in to overlap the sand.

I found it enchanting how she wrote her heart and soul into her performance, and maybe she didn't even mean to. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she never meant to lose herself to every note, every emotion. Maybe she never meant to show me just how vulnerable and broken and lost she was. I don't think she meant for her façade to slip, for me to see beneath, but it did. I could see it all. The hurt. The confusion. The way she felt like she was stumbling along, coming two inches too close to falling off the edge of a cliff. The way she clearly hates hiding everything away, but she hates the thought of burdening her friends with her struggle. The way she felt like she was constantly drowning. Yet, through everything, she still found herself capable of love, despite her struggle to accept the return of it in full. Just like me.

I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. She showed me so much, too much. It’s almost overwhelming, but it was all unintentional. I mean, she barely knows me, and if she puts up this façade to keep even her closest of friends out, why would she trust me? There's no way she showed me all this on purpose, is there?

The song was coming to an end, slowly fading out in a way that said the end was still too foggy to see. Her fingers stopped dancing across the keys, but her eyes remained closed. Silence seeped back in, all around us, as the notes died away in the air. I wanted to say something, but words failed me as I noticed a tear gliding easily down her cheek. Without even thinking about what I was doing, I reached up to brush the tear away, fingers lingering on her smooth skin.

_ No one this beautiful deserves to cry,  _ I thought, desperately wanting to say the words aloud, but I wasn't brave enough. It would mean admitting to something I'm not ready to even accept yet.

_ 'You can't contain it forever, Bastian. She may not remember you, but you never forgot her. You've always had those feelings. But, every time you saw her in passing, every time you would think about her, the very first time you heard her play the piano, and now the fact that she's suddenly taken an interest in you, it's only been making those feelings grow. You can't fight it forever. Sooner or later, you'll have to face up to the truth.’ _

Lydia's eyes fluttered open, immediately meeting my gaze, and something in the way she looked at me sent a jolt of electricity through my veins. I slowly pulled my hand back to my side, instantly regretting my decision. But I was a coward. I was terrified I wouldn't have been able to pull away, because her skin was smooth and I wanted nothing more than to brush my thumb back and forth in a gentle caress. I wanted to be the sort of comfort she needed, but I couldn't be. That job wasn't mine to take, but then... whose job is it?

"Don't cry," I begged, voice barely a whisper. "I'm no good when people cry." I honestly wasn't, though. I was always the one who was receiving comfort in situations like that when I was younger. There have only been a handful of times I've been the comforter, and I knew I was awful at it.

It made me smile when Lydia laughed. It was broken, but at least it was something close happy. She had a small smile on her lips as she said, "You think I'm any better. I have kid siblings, tears are kinda expected every once in a while, and I still don't feel as if I know what I'm doing half the time when I attempt to comfort them. I'm sure you can't be much worse with handling crying people than I am.”

I shook my head, questioning why she would bother telling me such lies. She is better. She is far better than I could ever be, and I don't just mean with comforting people. I'm always the reason people get hurt. Especially if they get close enough to me. Especially if they can manage to creep in past my defenses. That's why I walk with my eyes on the floor, because the eyes are the perfect gate to catch what's going on deep inside. Sometimes you show all your emotions through your eyes even if you didn't mean to do it. I can't afford that happening to myself. Yet, here I am. Unable to keep away from the one person who could easily tear down my walls and sneak a look inside.

I finally tore my eyes from hers, terrified of what I might've already shown her without being aware of the fact I was doing it. What secrets has she seen lying behind my eyes? What if she's seen just how vulnerable I really am? Suddenly, the air was too thick to breath. I couldn't sit around holding my breath while she could be reading my every secret.

"I think I should get going," I said, not even meeting her gaze, though I could feel her eyes burning holes in my skin. I quickly stood, shrugging on my coat and slinging my backpack over my shoulder, trying to ignoring the way my heart clenched with guilt.

Lydia was still frozen in place on the piano bench as I headed for the door. She pulled her hair over her shoulders, like a curtain to hide her face from view but I could still see it perfectly. Every beautiful, perfect detail. I could see the way her bottom lip trembled slightly, lips parting as she released a shaky breath. I could see the way a tear rolled down her skin, connecting a few of the freckles on her cheek on its fall.

There was a dull ache in my every bone. I didn't want to look her in the eyes, but I knew I would never allow myself to leave if I didn't at least try an see what's going on past those gates. Ever so slowly, I lifted my gaze to hers, immediately knowing I couldn't just leave her behind. It's like I could see all the damage that had ever been done to her through her eyes, and I couldn't help but wonder how many people have already deserted her in her life up to this point. Why does the simple thought of me leaving her, of saying goodbye, though it may not necessarily be forever, have to break her so terribly?

I may not deserve her in my life, but she doesn't deserve to be ignored and deserted like I keep doing to her. Seeing her this way—vulnerable and hurt—only helps to recall all the times I’ve been in similar positions. Now here I am, still frozen in the doorway, weighing the consequences of whatever decision I should make. If I leave her, I would never forgive myself for hurting her. But, won’t I just hurt her worse if I give her the impression that hanging around me is alright? Who knows how bad I’ll hurt her if I let her keep hanging around me? Either way, it’ll hurt her, and I never wanted that. Not for her.

_ Why does this have to be so difficult?  _ I think, running a hand through my hair to ease my nerves.

With a sigh, I ask, "You coming?”

There was a sense of pride and a calming relief that swept through me, making me both calmer at the same time that my nerves were buzzing, as I watched her go from looking utterly dejected to eyes glittering with pure joy. Maybe this would end up proving to be the wrong decision, but, at the moment, it couldn’t help but feel more right. I watched as she snatched up her bag, slinging it over her shoulders, and quickly joining me. There was a slight ache in my heart as I noticed in the way she moves that she was afraid I might change my mind and ditch her. It wasn’t a comforting thought that she probably didn’t trust me, but at the same time it might be better that she’s more cautious with me.

I held the door open for her on our way out, not able to help the gleam in my eyes that came when she responded with a small, “thank you.” Despite her attempt to hide it, I still caught the faint traces of a blush on her cheeks as she passed by, and that strange pride swelled in my chest again. Why do I find it so pleasing to know that I can be the one to make her blush like that?

I could feel the grin spreading across my face as we walked out of the school, side by side, in a comfortable silence. Silence has never been a comfortable thing for me. I suffer every moment of my life suffocating in it. Every moment is usually spent wishing,  _ praying _ that those damn voices will keep silently locked away. Yet, no matter how many times I’ve tried to lock them away, they always attack at the worst possible moments. Always making my lowest moments lower. Making my darkest of moods darker.

“I’m not used to it,” I find myself confessing, though I’m not sure why. “I’m not used to someone caring. That’s what’s wrong.”

The street around us was near desolate. The only other people around is a couple looking in the window at whatever shop’s display had caught their attention, and a family with a set of young twins walking on the other side of the street. It felt safe, a secure enough place for admitting such things. Whereas a crowded street would leave too much room for judgmental strangers to overhear you, and look at you in a way that would make anyone feel insecure.

I could feel her gaze burning deep into my skin, but I couldn’t find the strength to meet it. I couldn’t bring my eyes off the ground before my feet. My voice trembled as I said, “It’s not selfish. Wanting to be around me ‘cause I make you feel secure… it isn’t selfish. I mean, the people you care about make you feel secure, don’t they? That doesn’t make it selfish to want to be around them.

“And I… you make me feel the same. You make me feel secure and safe and like everything in my life is finally gonna be alright.” I pause, releasing a shaky breath as I finally meet her gaze. “You make me feel like I deserve to be loved, but that’s not what I believe. I find it so-so damn hard to believe that I could ever deserve that, but I can’t help but  _ want _ that with you.

“I just… I can’t… I don’t know if what I could offer you in return is good enough. ‘Cause all I ever do,” I shake my head, finding it more difficult to continue, “it never seems good enough, and you are someone who deserves  _ more _ than I could offer. And I-I don’t see what you see in me. I don’t get how you can see any good in me, because I feel I’m anything but that.” I closed my eyes, turning away from her again. I just poured out my fears to her, and that takes a lot from me. I’m not open. Not even to the few people who do try to love me. So where does this need to be honest and more open with her come from?

“I don’t know how to accept it.” I knew I didn’t need to clarify what I meant. I held my head down as if the thought that I didn’t know how to accept it made me feel ashamed, but I couldn’t say it did if I wasn’t even sure that I even wanted to accept it.

Lydia took my hand in her’s. No questioning if it was alright. No drawing back last second. Maybe this time she just didn’t care.

“It’s okay. You can always learn, and I’ll still care about you even if you struggle to accept it.” When she spoke her voice was soft but sure, like she knew this was a delicate sort of moment and feared if she spoke too loud it would tear me apart and make me bleed.

It suddenly dawned on me how cold her hand was in my own, and I realized that she didn’t have a coat on. The freezing winter air was turning her red, slowly freezing her to the core, and here I am letting it happen. I pause mid-step, setting my bag on the ground and shrugging my coat off. I didn’t waste any time with trying to offer it to her, I knew she would only deny it. So I just slipped it on her before she could get a word out. She had a guilty look on her face as I came around to button it up for her, but she didn’t say anything. I smiled triumphantly, slinging my bag back over my shoulders, and taking her hand in mine before we continued.

We keep walking in silence, Lydia leading the way. I had no idea where she was leading me to, but some part of me didn’t care where we ended up. Some part of me trusted her. While another part didn’t know if there was truly anyone in this world that I could fully trust. We finally came to a stop in a little clearing close to the edge of a river. I hadn’t even known there was a river close by to the school, or maybe I just hadn’t been paying attention to how long or how far we walked.

The river was already starting to freeze over. A thin layer of ice coated the surface of the water, but still too thin to walk on without immediately breaking through. Everything was covered in a blanket of white. Under the sunlight everything glittered, like seeing little crystals buried beneath the sheet of white. I could see why Lydia would like this place. It’s quiet. A nice place to go when you need to clear your mind.

My heart dropped when Lydia let go of my hand, moving to stand by the waters edge. She brushed the snow off one of the large rocks stuck in the earth of the bank and took a seat. She motioned for me to join her after I didn’t immediately follow. I don’t know where the sudden anxiety came from, but I moved cautiously closer, clearing off one of the other larger rocks close by her, and sat with her in a moment of calming silence. It took me a moment to gather the courage to continue our previous conversation. There were still so many things that I felt needed to be said. So many things I wouldn’t be able to stop reeling over and over in my mind until they were all out in the open.

“I don’t know that I want to learn how to accept it,” I admitted. I kept my hands braced against the rocks rough surface, praying she couldn’t see how bad I was trembling right now. “I haven’t accepted anyones love in so long. Any good I might have had in me, I don’t believe I have it anymore.

“I’m the broken angel boy whose wings were burnt so terribly on the fall that not a single feather was left in its purity. Not a bone in that body was left unbroken. He fell, so young and so far. He was left to be raised by the demons that treated him no better than a master to their slave.” I look to Lydia, smiling slightly.

“Then there’s you,” I continue, “the beautiful, hazel eyed angel with the wings of pure white. The angel who somehow deems me  _ “good”  _ despite anything that could point to the contrary.” I shake my head. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to wrap my head around that.

“I’m not pure,” hazel eyes replies. “I’m probably just as broken as you are. But, if you’re the black winged angel and I’m the white winged angel, then I guess it was destined for our paths to cross.”

“No. It was an accident.”  _ Our paths never should’ve crossed. _

“Really?” Lydia asked, a disbelieving look on her face. “Just because we lie on opposite sides of the spectrum doesn’t mean our paths weren’t meant to cross. Black and white always come together to make grey. So, maybe the black winged angel and the white winged angel were meant to meet. Maybe this is our in-between. Maybe this is our grey. Maybe this is the moment in our lives we can finally have a little break from the hell we’ve suffered this far.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. I honestly don’t even know what to make of any of my current situation.

“It terrifies me,” I find myself saying, voice sounding small again. Why do I always get so vulnerable with her? “It’s terrifying to me that I like this feeling I get in the small moments I’ve had with you, and that I never want it to end. But, I’m not used to it. I don’t know how to accept it, and I’m terrified of losing it if I do accept it. I just… I can’t… I don’t know what I want. I don’t know how I’ll deal with the loss of it all if I lose it.”

Lydia leaned back, bracing her hands against the rock she was sitting on. She kept her eyes focused on the sky above us—the dull grayish-blue of a winter sky seemingly lacking that little ball of yellow that keeps the sky lit during the day—as she said, “If this is my moment of freedom. If this is the moment where the dark meets the light, and I get a moment of grey… I’m gonna hold onto this for as long as I have it. ‘Cause I don’t want to lose this, but—“

I wanted to cry just seeing how choked up she was getting. Those questions running in my mind again.

_ How many people have deserted you? Why does the simple thought of me leaving you have to break you so bad? _

“Nothing good ever seems to want to stay in my life. No matter how much I pray that something,  _ someone  _ good will stay in my life. They all just seem to leave me, and I don’t even understand what I’m doing wrong.”

Lydia straightens up as I get to my feet, watching carefully as I move to sit with her, both of us sitting back to back. I reached my hand back, taking her hand in mine, and lightly caressing her skin as I felt her shaking with silent sobs. I wanted to turn to face her, to pull her into my arms and wipe all her tears away, but I’m not good with this sort of thing. Again, I whisper, “Don’t cry. I’m not good at dealing with people crying.”

Lydia laughed, and I could just picture the broken smile that would accompany it. I looked back when I felt her turn to face me. Her beautiful, hazel eyes met mine, and all of a sudden my breath was caught in the back of my throat. Behind her eyes there was pain, something so broken it shattered my heart. Yet, at the same time, there was something so beautiful that you couldn’t help but smile.

“You can’t be any worse than I am,” she replied.

“I bet I could be.”

There was a moment’s pause. Our eyes locked, never once breaking contact, and I had to refrain from reaching out to her, from brushing those lingering tears away.

“For as long as we have it?” Hazel eyes asked. I nodded, still unsure if this was a good idea, but I don’t think I could’ve said no even if I desperately wanted to.

“For as long as we have it,” I agreed.

“Into the grey.” She turned so we were sitting back to back again, her attention back on the sky. I clung tightly to her hand, desperately wishing she wouldn’t have turned around. I wanted to savor every beautiful moment with her. I wanted to memorize her in all her perfect imperfection, so when the day comes that I no longer have this… I can still remember.

“Into the grey,” I say, a smile growing impossibly wide on my face.

_ I will hurt you, but I’ll try not to. I’ll take you in all the time we have, but I will make mistakes. I will probably screw this up so terribly that I will be the soul reason this all falls apart. I am the broken angel, and I don’t deserve something so pure, so perfect. I will only taint you, but, for as long as we have it, I will enter into the grey. For you, my white winged angel, I will enter into the grey. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any comments, questions, or thoughts...?
> 
> Again, I am sorry it took forever to update. To those who already checked out this chapter when I published it the first time. There were some mistakes to be edited, and I republished this chapter. So, sorry if you thought this was a new part.
> 
> ...ily!
> 
> —Lydia J.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the end of chapter one! Thank you to those who stuck through this first bit. Hopefully you'll stick through with me to the very end.
> 
> Anyways, any questions, theories on what will happen, or anything else... Please leave a comment.
> 
> Hopefully I'll have another chapter up soon, for those of you who plan on continuing this read.
> 
> ...ily!
> 
> \--Lydia J.


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